JBRARY 

NtV£    S  TY  OF 
:a.  if-'ORNIA 
SAN  OtEGO 


IVAN   TURGENIEFF 


Volume  XV 


1S(  !^  SPRING  FRESHETS 
AND   OTHER  STORIES 


/ 


t;£^;-J 


'•:«';■'/::,  _iSf,  '  /  .  o-'^^ 


-sf^' 


THE  NOVELS  AND  STUiUi.h  Ul 
IVAN    TURGEMEFF 


♦  ♦SPRING  FRESHETS 
AND  OTHER  STORIES 


TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    RU>^^  -  \'    BY 
ISABEL  F.  HAPGOOD 


m 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES   SCRIBN'  5»ON:5 

1904 


<(' 


We  were  already  fleeing  headlong  down  the  street. 
Drawing  by  STANLEY  M.  ARTIIVRS. 


THE  NOVELS  AND  STORIES  OF 
IVAN    TURGENIEFF 


♦  ♦SPRING  FRESHETS 
AND  OTHER  STORIES 


TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    RUSSIAN    BY 
ISABEL  F.  HAPGOOD 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 

1904 


Copyright,  1904,  by 
Charles   Scribner's  Sohs 


PREFACE 

"  Spring  Freshets  "  was  first  published  in  the 
European  Messenger.  In  commenting  upon  it 
one  critic  says  that,  in  his  later  works,  Turgenieff 
lingered,  with  special  intensity  of  interest,  over 
the  weak-willed  people  (or,  rather,  men)  who 
have  no  moral  backbone.  Such  an  one  is  the  hero 
of  the  splendid  novel,  "  Spring  Freshets,"  one  of 
the  most  inspired  and  fairest  creations  of  art. 
Sanin  has  fallen  in  love  with  a  pure  and  radiant 
affection,  with  a  pure  maiden.  Gemma;  but  the 
seduction  of  perturbing,  sensual  passion  is  all- 
powerful  over  him;  and  while  condemning  and 
despising  himself,  he  yields  to  that  passion  and 
slays  the  happiness  and  the  love  which  would  have 
been  given  to  him  in  sincerity  of  soul. 

This  story  leaves  a  painful  impression  on  the 
reader.  In  the  artistic  form  of  a  storj^  the  same 
idea  is  conveyed  which  poured  forth  lyrically  in 
"  Phantoms  "  and  in  "  It  is  Enough."  We  behold 
in  the  novel  the  poetic  melancholy  over  the  con- 
tradiction between  the  laws  of  Nature  and  man's 
aspirations  toward  the  absolute,  the  eternal.  This 
thought  concerning  the  strife  between  material 
Nature  and  the  spirit  of  mankind  permeates  a 

V 


PREFACE 

whole  series  of  lesser  stories  written  during  the 
last  fifteen  or  twenty  years  of  the  author's  life. 
In  them  the  poet  subjects  to  microscopic  and 
profoundly-artistic  analysis  the  idea  of  the  mar- 
vellous. He  scrutinises  the  supernatural  in  its  rela- 
tions both  with  the  accidents  and  the  self-decep- 
tion of  human  conceit  (in  the  story  "  Knock  .  .  . 
Knock  .  .  .  Knock,"  in  this  connection,  he  even 
bears  himself  with  the  greatest  scepticism  and  in- 
credulity toward  the  supernatural),  as  also  with 
covetous  deception  and  crime  ("  The  Story  of 
Lieutenant  ErgunofF"),  and  with  magnetism 
("A  Strange  Story,"  and  "The  Song  of  Love 
Triumphant ")  ;  and,  in  conclusion,  as  the  mani- 
festation and  action  of  a  spirit  ("  The  Dog,"  and 
"  Father  Alexyei's  Story  ") . 

With  a  vivid  interest  which  grips  the  heart, 
and  with  profound,  though  hidden  and  painful 
sympathy,  does  Turgenieff  depict  man's  ten- 
dency toward  the  marvellous,  his  thirst  for  the 
supernatural,  the  immortal. 

One  of  the  author's  favourite  themes  was  a 
weak  man  bowing  down  before  a  strong  wo- 
man. This  he  used  in  "  Riidin,"  "  Smoke,"  "  The 
Region  of  Dead  Calm,"  "  The  End  of  Tchertop- 
khanoff,"  and  in  "  Spring  Freshets."  Even  such 
a  purely  sensual  and  rapacious  nature  as  Madame 
PolozofF  is,  in  the  first  place,  strong,  and,  in  the 
second  place,  sympathetic  in  many  respects,  while 
Gemma  belongs  with  the  purely  ideal  but  strong 

vi 


PREFACE 

characters  represented  by  the  heroines  of  "  The 
Region  of  Dead  Calm,"  "  A  Nobleman's  Nest," 
"  Riidin,"  "  On  the  Eve,"  Tanya  (in  "  Smoke  ") , 
and  Katya  (in  "  Fathers  and  Children  ") . 

Another  point  worth  noting  is  that  the  theme 
of  "  Spring  Freshets "  is  almost  identical  in 
substance  with  that  of  "A  Correspondence." 
Moreover,  the  great  poet-analyst  sets  forth  his 
idea  that  there  is  love  and  love, — good  love  and 
evil  love, — which  are  of  violently-contrasted  na- 
ture. In  "  Smoke  "  and  "  Spring  Freshets  "  he 
expounded  this  idea  in  its  clearest  and  most  vivid 
form. 

Concerning  "The  Watch"  the  Russian  critics 
have,  practically,  nothing  to  say. 

I.  F.  H. 


vu 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

SPRING   FRESHETS 1 

KNOCK  .   .   .   KNOCK  .   .  .   KNOCK  ...     .     .     .239 

THE  WATCH 291 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

(1871) 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

The  merry  years, 
The  happy  days,— 
Like  freshets  in  spring 
They  have  dashed  past ! 

From  an  ancient  Ballad. 

ABOUT  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  he  re- 
L  turned  to  his  study.  He  dismissed  the  ser- 
vant, struck  a  match,— and,  flinging  himself  into 
an  arm-chair  near  the  fireplace,  he  covered  his 
face  with  both  hands. 

Never  before  had  he  felt  such  fatigue — both 
physical  and  spiritual.  He  had  spent  the  entire 
evening  with  agreeable  ladies,  wdth  cultured  men : 
some  of  the  ladies  were  handsome,  nearly  all  the 
men  were  distinguished  for  wit  and  talents — he 
himself  had  conversed  with  great  success,  and 
even  brilliantly  .  .  .  and,  nevertheless,  never  be- 
fore had  that  tcedium  vitce  of  which  the  Ro- 
mans talked,  that  "  disgust  with  hfe,"  taken  pos- 
session of  him  with  irresistible  force,  and  had 
stifled  him.  Had  he  been  a  httle  younger  he 
would  have  wept  Yn\h  melancholy,  boredom,  irri- 
tation: a  caustic  and  burning  bitterness,  like 
the  bitterness  of  wormwood,  filled  his  soul  to 
overflowing.  Something  importunately-loath- 
some, repulsively -oppressive,  invested  him  on  all 

3 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

sides,  like  a  gloomy,  autumnal  night;— and  he 
did  not  know  how  to  rid  himself  of  that  gloom, 
of  that  bitterness.  It  was  useless  to  rely  upon 
sleep  to  do  it:  he  knew  well  that  he  could  not 
sleep. 

He  set  to  meditating  .  .  .  slowly,  languidly, 
and  spitefully. 

He  meditated  upon  the  vanity,  the  uselessness, 
the  stale  falsity  of  everything  human.  All  ages 
of  man  gradually  passed  in  review  before  his 
mental  vision—  (he  himself  had  passed  his  fifty- 
second  birthday  not  long  before)  — and  not  one 
of  them  found  any  mercy  at  his  hands.  Every- 
where there  was  the  same  eternal  pouring  of  the 
empty  into  the  void,  the  same  beating  of  the 
empty  air,  the  same  half -conscientious,  half -con- 
scious self-deception, — anything  with  which  to 
soothe  the  child,  so  that  it  might  not  cry,— and 
then,  all  of  a  sudden  old  age  descends  unexpect- 
edly, like  snow  on  the  head, — and  along  with  it, 
that  constantly-augmenting,  all-devouring,  and 
gnawing  fear  of  death  ....  and,  flop  into  the 
abyss!  And  it  is  a  good  thing  if  life  does  wind 
up  in  that  way! — Otherwise,  probably,  before  the 
end,  feebleness,  suffering  will  come  like  rust  on 
grain.  .  .  .  The  sea  of  life  did  not  appear  to  him, 
as  the  poets  describe  it,  covered  with  stormy 
waves;  no: — he  depicted  to  himself  that  sea  as 
imperturbably-smooth,  motionless  and  transpar- 
ent to  even  its  very  dark  bottom;  he  himself  is 
sitting  in  a  small,  cranky  boat, — and  down  yon- 

4 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

der,  on  that  dark,  slimy  bottom,  horrible  mon- 
sters, in  the  likeness  of  huge  fishes,  are  dimly  visi- 
ble: all  the  ills  of  life,  sicknesses,  woes,  mad- 
nesses, poverty,  blindness.  .  .  .  He  gazes:  and 
lo,  one  of  the  monsters  detaches  itself  from  the 
gloom,  rises  higher  and  higher,  grows  more  and 
more  distinct,  more  repulsively-distinct.  .  .  . 
Another  minute — and  the  boat  which  is  resting 
upon  it  will  be  overturned !  But  behold,  it  seems 
to  grow  dim  once  more,  it  retreats,  sinks  to  the 
bottom — and  there  it  lies,  barely  moving  its  gills. 
.  .  .  But  the  fatal  day  will  come  when  it  will 
capsize  the  boat. 

He  shook  his  head,  jumped  up  from  his  chair, 
strode  up  and  down  the  room  a  couple  of  times, 
seated  himself  at  the  writing-table,  and  pulling 
out  one  drawer  after  another,  he  began  to  rum- 
mage among  his  old  papers,  among  ancient  let- 
ters, chiefly  from  women.  He  himself  did  not 
know  why  he  was  doing  this ;  he  was  not  search- 
ing for  anything — he  was  simply  desirous  of  rid- 
ding himself,  by  some  external  activity,  of  the 
thoughts  which  were  oppressing  him.  Unfold- 
ing, at  haphazard,  several  letters  (in  one  of  them 
he  found  some  withered  flowers,  bound  with  a 
faded  ribbon),  he  merely  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders, and  casting  a  glance  at  the  fireplace,  flung 
them  aside,  probably  making  ready  to  burn  all 
this  useless  rubbish.  Hastily  thrusting  his  hands, 
now  into  one,  now  into  another  drawer,  he  sud- 
denly opened  his  eyes  to  their  fullest  extent,  and 

5 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

slowly  drawing  forth  a  small  octagonal  casket  of 
ancient  design,  he  slowly  raised  its  lid.  In  the 
casket,  beneath  a  double  layer  of  cotton-wool,  yel- 
lowed with  age,  was  a  tiny  garnet  cross. 

For  several  moments  he  surveyed  this  little 
cross  with  bewilderment— and  all  at  once  he  ut- 
tered a  cry.  ...  It  was  neither  precisely  pity 
nor  yet  joy  which  his  features  expressed.  A 
man's  face  presents  that  sort  of  an  expression 
when  he  chances  suddenly  to  encounter  another 
man,  whom  he  has  long  lost  from  sight,  whom  he 
has  once  tenderly  loved,  and  who  now  unex- 
pectedly starts  up  before  his  vision,  still  the  same 
— yet  all  altered  by  the  years. 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  and  returning  to  the  fire- 
place, seated  himself  once  more  in  his  arm-chair — 
and  once  more  held  his  face  in  his  hands.  .  .  . 
"Why  to-day?  To-day  in  particular?"  he 
thought  to  himself —and  he  recalled  many  things 
which  had  taken  place  long  ago. 

This  is  what  he  called  to  mind  .... 

But  first  we  must  tell  his  name,  patronymic 
and  surname.  He  was  called  Sanin,  Dmitry 
Pavlovitch. 

This  is  what  he  called  to  mind  .... 


It  was  the  year  1840.  Sanin  was  in  his  twenty- 
third  year,  and  was  in  Frankfurt,  on  his  home- 
ward road  from  Italy  to  Russia.    He  was  a  man 

6 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

of  small  but  independent  fortune,  almost  totally 
devoid  of  family.  He  possessed  a  few  thousand 
rubles,  which  had  come  to  him  on  the  death  of  a 
distant  relative— and  he  decided  to  spend  them 
abroad,  before  entering  government  service,  be- 
fore definitively  donning  that  official  harness 
without  which  an  existence  free  from  anxiety  was 
inconceivable  for  him.  Sanin  carried  out  his  in- 
tention to  the  letter,  and  managed  matters  so  art- 
fully that  on  the  day  of  his  arrival  in  Frankfurt 
he  had  just  money  left  to  take  him  to  Petersburg. 
In  1840  there  was  only  the  smallest  amount  of 
railways  in  existence;  tourists  travelled  in  stage- 
coaches. Sanin  engaged  a  place  in  the  Bei- 
wagen;  but  the  diligence  did  not  start  until 
eleven  o'clock  at  night.  He  had  a  great  deal  of 
time  on  his  hands.  Fortunately,  the  weather  was 
very  fine— and  Sanin,  after  dining  in  the  then 
renowned  hostelry  "  The  White  Swan,"  set  out  to 
roam  about  the  town.  He  dropped  in  to  have  a 
look  at  Dannecker's  "Ariadne,"  which  did  not 
please  him  much,  visited  the  house  of  Goethe,  of 
whose  writings,  by  the  way,  he  had  read  only 
"  Werther  "—and  that  in  a  French  translation;  he 
strolled  along  the  banks  of  the  Main,  got  bored,  as 
is  proper  for  a  well-ordered  traveller;  at  last,  at 
six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  he  found  himself 
weary,  with  dusty  feet,  in  one  of  the  most  insig- 
nificant streets  of  Frankfurt.  For  a  long  time 
thereafter  he  was  unable  to  forget  that  street. 

7 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

On  one  of  its  not  very  numerous  houses  he  espied 
a  sign:  the  "  Italian  Confectionery  Shop  of  Gio- 
vanni Roselli "  announced  itself  to  passers-by. 

Sanin  stepped  in  to  drink  a  glass  of  lemonade ; 
but  in  the  first  room,  where,  behind  a  modest 
counter,  on  the  shelves  of  a  painted  cupboard, 
suggestive  of  an  apothecary's  shop,  stood  several 
bottles  with  gilt  labels,  and  a  corresponding  num- 
ber of  glass  jars  filled  with  rusks,  chocolate  cakes, 
and  caramels— in  this  room  there  was  not  a  living 
soul;  only  a  grey  cat  was  blinking  and  purring, 
as  she  opened  and  shut  her  paws  on  a  tall  wattled 
chair  near  the  window, — and,  glowing  vividly  in 
the  slanting  rays  of  the  evening  sun,  a  big  ball  of 
scarlet  wool  lay  on  the  floor,  alongside  an  over- 
turned basket  of  carved  wood.  A  confused  noise 
was  audible  in  the  adjoining  room.  Sanin  stood 
still,  and  after  allowing  the  little  bell  on  the  door 
to  ring  itself  out,  he  exclaimed,  raising  his  voice : 
"Is  there  any  one  here?"  At  that  moment  the 
door  of  the  adjoining  room  opened— and  Sanin 
was  impelled  to  involuntary  amazement. 

II 

Into  the  confectioner's  shop,  with  her  dark  curls 
scattered  over  her  shoulders,  and  bare  arms  ex- 
tended before  her,  ran  impetuously  a  young  girl 
of  nineteen,  and  on  catching  sight  of  Sanin,  in- 
stantly rushed  up  to  him,  seized  him  by  the  hand, 

8 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

and  drew  him  after  her,  saying  in  a  panting 
voice:  "Quick,  quick,  this  way,  to  the  rescue!" 
Sanin  did  not  immediately  follow  the  girl — not 
because  of  reluctance  to  comply  with  her  request, 
but  simply  from  excessive  surprise— and  re- 
mained, as  it  were,  stubbornly  rooted  to  the  spot : 
in  all  his  life  he  had  never  beheld  such  a  beauty. 
She  turned  toward  him— and  ejaculated,  with 
such  despair  in  her  voice,  in  her  eyes,  in  the  ges- 
ture of  her  clenched  fist:  "  Come,  pray  come! " — 
that  he  immediately  rushed  after  her  through  the 
open  door. 

In  the  room,  into  which  he  ran  behind  the 
young  girl,  upon  an  old-fashioned  horsehair 
couch,  all  white — white  with  yellowish  reflections, 
like  wax  or  ancient  marble, — lay  a  lad  of  fourteen, 
who  bore  a  striking  resemblance  to  the  young  girl 
and  was,  evidentlv,  her  brother.  His  eves  were 
closed ;  the  shadow  of  his  heavy  black  hair  fell  in 
a  patch  upon  his  forehead,  which  seemed  turned 
to  stone,  upon  his  slender,  motionless  eyebrows; 
his  clenched  teeth  were  visible  between  his  blue 
lips.  He  did  not  seem  to  be  breathing; — one 
arm  lay  on  the  floor,  the  other  he  had  thrown 
above  his  head.  The  boy  was  fully  dressed,  and 
his  clothing  was  buttoned  up;  a  tight  neckcloth 
compressed  his  neck. 

The  young  girl  rushed  to  him  with  a  shriek. 
*'  He  is  dead,  he  is  dead ! "  she  screamed ;  "  a  mo- 
ment ago  he  was  sitting  here,  talking  with  me— 

9 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

and  all  of  a  sudden,  he  fell  down  and  became  mo- 
tionless .  .  .  O  my  God!  can  it  be  that  there  is 
no  help  for  it?  And  mamma  is  not  here !  Panta- 
leone,  Pantaleone,  what  about  the  doctor?"  she 
suddenly  added  in  Italian:  "Didst  thou  go  for 
a  doctor?" 

"  I  did  not  go,  Signora,  I  sent  Luisa,"  rang 
out  a  husky  voice  beyond  the  door, — and  limping 
on  his  crooked  legs,  there  entered  the  room  a  little 
old  man  in  a  lilac  dress-coat  with  black  buttons, 
a  tall  white  neckcloth,  short  nankeen  trousers,  and 
blue  worsted  stockings.  His  tiny  face  was  quite 
concealed  beneath  a  perfect  pile  of  iron-grey 
hair.  Standing  up  stiffly  in  all  directions,  and 
falling  back  again  in  dishevelled  locks,  it  im- 
parted to  the  old  man's  figure  a  likeness  to  a 
crested  hen, — a  likeness  the  more  striking  in  that 
beneath  their  dark -grey  mass  nothing  was  to  be 
distinguished  save  a  sharp-pointed  nose  and 
round,  yellow  eyes. 

"  Luisa  runs  faster,  and  I  cannot  run,"  went 
on  the  little  old  man,  in  Italian,  lifting  his  flat, 
gouty  feet,  clad  in  tall  slippers  with  ribbon  bows, 
alternately, — "but  I  have  brought  some  water." 

In  his  gaunt,  calloused  fingers  he  clutched  the 
long  neck  of  a  bottle. 

"But  meanwhile  £mile  will  die!"  cried  the 
girl,  stretching  out  her  hand  toward  Sanin. — 
"Oh,  sir,  O  mein  Herri— Cannot  you  help  us?" 

"We  must  let  blood— it  is  a  stroke  of  apo- 

10 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

plexy,"— remarked  the  old  man,  who  bore  the 
name  of  Pantaleone. 

Although  Sanin  had  not  the  faintest  under- 
standing of  the  medical  art,  he  knew  one  thing 
for  a  fixed  fact:  lads  of  fourteen  do  not  have  at- 
tacks of  apoplexy. 

"  It  is  a  swoon,  not  an  apoplectic  fit,"— said  he, 
addressing  Pantaleone. — "Have  you  a  brush?" 

The  old  man  raised  his  tiny  face  a  little. — 
"What?" 

"A  brush,  a  brush,"— repeated  Sanin,  in  Ger- 
man and  in  French. 

"  A  brush," — he  added,  pretending  in  dumb- 
show  that  he  was  cleaning  his  clothes. 

At  last  the  old  man  understood  him. 

"  Ah,  a  brush!  Spazzette!  Of  course  we  have 
a  brush!" 

"  Bring  it  hither;  we  will  take  off  his  coat— and 
rub  him." 

"  Good  ....  Benone!  And  shall  not  we 
pour  water  on  his  head? " 

"No  .  .  .  afterward;  go  now,  and  fetch  the 
brush  as  quickly  as  possible." 

Pantaleone  set  the  bottle  on  the  floor,  ran  out 
of  the  room,  and  immediately  returned  with  two 
brushes,  a  hair-brush  and  a  clothes-brush.  A 
curly  poodle  accompanied  him,  and  wagging  his 
tail  briskly,  stared  curiously  at  the  little  old  man, 
the  young  girl  and  even  Sanin — as  though  desir- 
ous of  finding  out  what  aU  this  tumult  meant. 

11 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Sanin  promptly  removed  the  coat  of  the  pros- 
trate lad,  unliooked  his  collar,  stripped  up  his 
shirt-sleeves — and  arming  himself  with  the  brush, 
began  to  rub  his  breast  and  arms  with  all  his 
might.  Pantaleone  rubbed  the  hair-brush  over 
his  boots  and  trousers,  with  equal  zeal.  The  girl 
flung  herself  on  her  knees  beside  the  couch,  and 
clutching  her  head  with  both  hands,  without 
winking  an  eyelash,  she  riveted  her  gaze  on  her 
brother's  face. 

Sanin  rubbed  away, — and  surveyed  her  with  a 
sidelong  gaze  as  he  did  so.  Good  heavens!  what 
a  beauty  she  was ! 

Ill 

Her  nose  was  rather  large,  but  handsome,  of  the 
aquiline  type;  her  upper  lip  was  just  barely 
shaded  with  down;  on  the  other  hand,  her  com- 
plexion was  smooth  and  dead-white,  precisely  like 
ivory  or  milky  amber;  the  shining  masses  of  her 
hair  were  like  those  of  Allori's  "  Judith  "  in  the 
Palazzo  Pitti,— and  especially  her  eyes,  dark 
grey,  with  a  black  rim  around  the  pupil,  were 
magnificent,  conquering  eyes, — even  now  when 
fright  and  grief  had  dimmed  their  lustre.  .  .  . 
Sanin  involuntarily  called  to  mind  the  wondrous 
land  whence  he  had  just  returned  .  .  .  Yes, 
even  in  Italy  he  had  not  met  anything  like  her! 
The  young  girl  breathed  infrequently  and  un- 

12 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

evenly ;  she  seemed  each  time  to  be  waiting  to  sec 
whether  her  brother  would  breathe. 

Sanin  continued  to  rub  him ;  but  he  did  not  look 
at  the  young  girl  alone.  Pantaleone's  original 
figure  also  attracted  his  attention.  The  old  man 
grew  quite  weak,  and  panted  for  breath;  with 
every  stroke  of  the  brush  he  gave  a  leap  and 
a  grunt,  while  his  huge  mass  of  shaggy  hair, 
dampened  with  perspiration,  rocked  from  side  to 
side  like  the  roots  of  a  vast  plant  undermined  by 
water. 

"Do  take  off  his  boots,  at  least,"— Sanin  felt 
like  saying  to  him.  .  .  . 

The  poodle,  probably  excited  by  the  unwonted- 
ness  of  what  was  going  on,  suddenly  sank  down 
on  his  forepaws  and  began  to  bark. 

"  Tartaglia,  canaglia!  ''—hissed  the  old  man  at 
him.  .  .  . 

But  at  that  moment  the  young  girl's  face  un- 
derwent a  transformation;  her  eyes  grew  larger, 
and  began  to  beam  with  joy.  .  .  .  Sanin  glanced 
round  ....  A  flush  mounted  to  the  face  of  the 
young  man;  his  eyelids  moved  and  his  nostrils 
quivered.  He  inhaled  air  through  his  still 
clenched  teeth,  sighed  .... 

"fimile!"- cried  the  girL  .  .  .  "EmiHo 
mio! " 

Slowly  the  great  black  eyes  opened.  Their 
glance  was  still  dull,  but  they  were  already  smil- 
ing faintly;  the  same  faint  smile  descended  to 

13 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

the  pale  lips.    Then  he  moved  his  pendent  arm— 
and  with  a  flourish  laid  it  on  his  breast. 

"Emilio!"— repeated  the  young  girl,  and 
half  rose  to  her  feet.  The  expression  of  her  face 
was  so  strong  and  brilliant  that  it  seemed  as 
though  her  tears  would  spring  forth  or  that  she 
would  break  into  laughter. 

"fimile!  What  is  it?  Emile!"— rang  out  a 
voice  outside  the  door— and  with  swift  steps,  a 
neatly-attired  woman,  with  silvery-grey  hair  and 
a  swarthy  complexion,  entered  the  room.  An 
elderly  man  followed  her;  the  head  of  a  maid- 
servant peered  from  behind  his  shoulders. 

The  young  girl  ran  to  meet  them. 

"He  is  saved,  mamma,  he  lives!"— she  ex- 
claimed, convulsively  embracing  the  lady  who 
had  entered. 

"But  what  is  the  matter?"— repeated  the  lat- 
ter. .  .  "T  am  on  my  way  home,  when  suddenly 
I  meet  the  doctor  and  Luisa.  ..."  The  girl 
began  to  relate  what  had  happened,  while  the 
doctor  stepped  up  to  the  sick  boy,  who  was  com- 
ing more  and  more  to  himself — and  still  con- 
tinued to  smile:  he  seemed  to  be  ashamed  of  the 
alarm  which  he  had  caused. 

"  You  have  been  rubbing  him  with  brushes,  I 
see,"— said  the  doctor  to  Sanin  and  Pantaleone, 
— "  and  it  was  well  done.  ...  A  very  good  idea 
....  and  now  let  us  see  what  further  reme- 
dies. .  .  ." 

14 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

He  felt  the  young  man's  pulse.—"  H'm!  show 
your  tongue ! " 

The  lady  bent  anxiously  over  him.  He  smiled 
more  frankly  than  before,  turned  his  eyes  on  her 
— and  flushed  scarlet.  .  . 

It  occurred  to  Sanin  that  his  presence  was  be- 
coming superfluous ;  he  went  out  into  the  confec- 
tioner's shop.  But  before  he  could  grasp  the 
handle  of  the  street  door,  the  young  girl  again  ap- 
peared before  him,  and  stopped  him. 

"  You  are  going  away," — she  began,  gazing 
caressingly  in  his  face;  "I  will  not  detain  you, 
but  you  must  come  to  us  again  this  evening,  with- 
out fail;  we  are  so  greatly  indebted  to  you,— you 
may  have  saved  my  brother's  life — we  wish  to 
thank  you— mamma  wishes  to  thank  you.  You 
must  tell  us  who  you  are,  you  must  rejoice  with 
us " 

"But  I  am  setting  out  for  Berlin  to-day,"— 
stammered  Sanin. 

"  You  will  have  plenty  of  time,"— returned  the 
young  girl  vivaciously.—"  Come  to  us  an  hour 
hence,  to  drink  a  cup  of  chocolate.  Do  you 
promise  ?  But  I  must  go  back  to  him !  Will  you 
come?" 

"WTiat  was  there  left  for  Sanin  to  do? 

"  I  will,"  he  replied. 

The  beauty  gave  his  hand  a  hasty  pressure,  and 
fluttered  forth— and  he  found  himself  in  the 
street. 

15 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


IV 

When  Sanin,  an  hour  and  a  half  later,  returned 
to  Roselli's  confectionery  shop,  he  was  welcomed 
there  like  a  relative.  Emilio  was  sitting  on  the 
same  couch  on  which  they  had  rubbed  him;  the 
doctor  had  prescribed  some  medicine  for  him,  and 
had  recommended  "great  caution  in  the  experi- 
ence of  emotion," — as  being  of  a  nervous  tem- 
perament, and  with  a  tendency  to  heart-disease. 
He  had  previously  been  subject  to  fainting  fits; 
but  never  had  an  attack  been  so  prolonged  and  so 
violent.  The  doctor  had  declared,  however,  that 
all  danger  was  over,  fimile  was  dressed  as  befits 
a  convalescent,  in  a  loose  dressing-gown;  his  mo- 
ther had  wound  a  blue  woollen  kerchief  round  his 
neck;  but  he  wore  a  cheerful,  almost  festive  as- 
pect ;  and  everything  round  about  him  also  wore  a 
festive  aspect.  In  front  of  the  couch,  on  a  round 
table  covered  with  a  clean  cloth,  and  surrounded 
by  cups,  caraffes  with  syrup,  biscuits,  and  rolls, 
even  with  flowers, — rose  a  huge,  porcelain  coiFee- 
pot  filled  with  fragrant  chocolate;  six  slender 
wax  tapers  burned  in  two  antique  silver  cande- 
labra ;  on  one  side  of  the  divan,  a  reclining  chair 
opened  its  soft  embrace— and  Sanin  was  placed 
in  this  chair.  All  the  inhabitants  of  the  confec- 
tioner's shop,  with  whom  he  had  had  occasion  to 
make  acquaintance  that  day,  were  present,  not 

16 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

excepting  the  poodle  Tartaglia  and  the  cat;  all 
seemed  unspeakably  happy;  the  poodle  even 
sneezed  with  pleasure;  the  cat  alone,  as  before, 
kept  blinking  and  purring.  They  made  Sanin 
explain  who  he  was,  and  whence  he  came,  and 
what  was  his  name;  when  he  said  that  he  was 
a  Russian,  both  the  ladies  displayed  some  sur- 
prise, and  even  uttered  an  exclamation, — and  im- 
mediately, in  one  voice,  declared  that  he  spoke 
German  capitally;  but  if  he  found  it  more  con- 
venient to  express  himself  in  French,  he  might 
employ  that  language,  as  both  of  them  under- 
stood it  well,  and  expressed  themselves  well  in  it. 
Sanin  immediately  availed  himself  of  this  sug- 
gestion. "Sanin!  Sanin!" — The  ladies  had 
never  supposed  that  a  Russian  surname  could  be 
so  easily  pronounced.  His  Christian  name, 
"  Dmitry,"  also  pleased  them  greatly.  The  elder 
lady  remarked  that  in  her  youth  she  had  heard  a 
fine  opera:  "  Demetrio  e  Polibio "— but  that 
"  Dmitry  "  was  much  nicer  than  "  Demetrio."  In 
this  manner  did  Sanin  chat  for  about  an  hour. 
The  ladies,  on  their  side,  initiated  him  into  all  the 
details  of  their  own  life.  The  mother,  the  lady 
vnth  the  grey  hair,  did  most  of  the  talking. 
From  her  Sanin  learned  that  her  name  was  Leo- 
nora Roselli ;  that  she  was  the  widow  of  Giovanni 
Battista  Roselli,  who  had  settled  in  Frankfurt 
twenty-five  years  previously,  as  a  confectioner; 
that   Giovanni   Battista  had  been   a   native   of 

17 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Vicenza,  and  a  very  good,  though  rather  peppery 
and  irritable  man,  and  a  republican  into  the  bar- 
gain! As  she  uttered  these  words,  Signora  Ro- 
selli  pointed  to  his  portrait,  painted  in  oils,  which 
hung  over  the  couch.  We  must  assume  that  the 
artist— "also  a  republican,"  as  Signora  Roselli 
remarked  with  a  sigh— had  not  quite  succeeded 
in  catching  the  hkeness,— for  in  his  portrait  the 
late  Giovanni  Battista  was  represented  as  a  sort 
of  grim  and  gloomy  brigand— in  the  style  of  Ri- 
naldo  Rinaldini!  Signora  Roselli  herself  was  a 
native  of  "the  ancient  and  beautiful  city  of 
Parma,  where  there  is  such  a  magnificent  dome, 
painted  by  the  immortal  Correggio!"  But 
through  prolonged  residence  in  Germany,  she 
had  become  almost  a  German.  Then  she  added, 
with  a  mournful  shake  of  the  head,  that  all  she 
had  left  was  this  daughter,  and  this  son  (she 
pointed  her  finger  at  them  in  turn)  ;— that  her 
daughter's  name  was  Gemma,  and  her  son's, 
Emilio;  that  they  were  both  very  good  and  obe- 
dient children— especially  Emilio  ....  ("I'm 
not  obedient! "  put  in  her  daughter  at  this  point; 
— "  Okli,  thou  art  a  republican  also!  "  replied  her 
mother)  ;— that  business  was  not  as  good  now,  of 
course,  as  in  her  husband's  time,  for  he  had  been 
a  great  master  in  the  confectioner's  art  .... 
C' Un  grand'  iiomo/"^- interposed  Pantaleone 
with  a  morose  aspect)  ;  but  that,  nevertheless, 
they  were  able  to  make  a  living,  thank  God! 

18 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


Gemma  listened  to  her  mother— now  laughing, 
now  sighing,  now  stroking  her  on  the  shoulder, 
again  menacing  her  with  her  finger,  now  glancing 
at  Sanin;  at  last  she  rose,  embraced  her  mother, 
and  kissed  her  on  the  neck, — on  the  throat  just 
under  the  chin,  which  made  the  latter  laugh  a 
great  deal  and  even  squeal.  Pantaleone  was  also 
introduced  to  Sanin.  It  appeared  that  he  had 
formerly  been  an  opera-singer,  in  barytone  parts, 
but  had  long  since  dropped  his  theatrical  occupa- 
tions, and  had  become  something  midway  be- 
tween a  friend  of  the  house  and  a  servant  in  the 
Roselli  family.  Notwithstanding  his  long  resi- 
dence in  Germany,  he  had  acquired  the  German 
language  only  in  an  imperfect  manner,  and  mer- 
cilessly murdered  even  the  words  of  abuse. 
"Ferrofluchto  spiccehuhhio!"  was  what  he  called 
nearly  every  German.  But  the  Italian  language 
he  spoke  in  perfection,  being  a  native  of  Siniga- 
glia,  where  is  heard  the  ''  lingua  toscana  in  hocca 
romana!"  Emilio  was  obviously  pampering 
himself,  and  surrendering  himself  to  the  agree- 
able sensations  of  a  man  who  has  just  escaped 
danger,  or  is  convalescing;  and,  moreover,  it  was 
perceptible,  from  all  the  indications,  that  the 
members  of  the  household  spoiled  him  with  pet- 
ting.    He  thanked  Sanin  in  a  bashful  way,  but 

19 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

devoted  himself  chiefly  to  the  syrup  and  the 
candy.  Sanin  was  compelled  to  drink  two  large 
cups  of  superb  chocolate,  and  to  consume  a  re- 
markable amount  of  biscuits;  no  sooner  had  he 
swallowed  one  than  Gemma  offered  him  another 
— and  it  was  impossible  to  refuse!  He  speedily 
felt  himself  quite  at  home :  time  sped  on  with  in- 
credible swiftness.  He  had  to  tell  a  great  deal 
about  Russia  in  general,  about  Russian  society; 
about  the  Russian  peasant— and  especially  about 
the  kazaks;  about  the  War  of  1812,  about  Peter 
the  Great,  the  Kremlin,  Russian  ballads  and 
bells.  Both  of  the  ladies  had  but  a  very  feeble 
conception  of  our  vast  and  distant  fatherland ; 
Signora  Roselli,  or,  as  she  was  more  frequently 
called,  Frau  Lenore,  even  amazed  Sanin  with  the 
question:  whether  the  famous  ice-palace  built  in 
St.  Petersburg  during  the  last  century,  concern- 
ing which  she  had  recently  read  such  a  curious 
article— in  one  of  her  deceased  husband's  books 
— "Bellezze  delle  Arti"— was  still  in  existence? 
—and  in  response  to  Sanin's  exclamation:  "Can 
it  be  possible  that  you  think  there  is  never  any 
summer  in  Russia!"  Frau  Lenore  replied  that 
up  to  that  time  she  had  depicted  Russia  to  herself 
in  the  following  manner :  eternal  snow,  every  one 
going  about  in  fur  cloaks,  and  everybody  in  the 
military  service — but  remarkable  hospitality,  and 
all  the  peasants  very  obedient!  Sanin  endeav- 
oured to  impart  to  her  and  her  daughter  more  ac- 

20 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

curate  information.  When  the  conversation 
turned  on  Russian  music,  he  was  immediately 
asked  to  sing  some  Russian  air,  and  a  tiny  piano, 
with  black  keys  instead  of  white  and  white  in- 
stead of  black,  which  stood  in  the  room,  was 
pointed  out  to  him.  He  complied  without  fur- 
ther ado,  and  accompanying  himself  with  two 
fingers  of  his  right  hand,  and  three  of  his  left 
(the  thumb,  middle  finger  and  little  finger),  he 
sang,  in  a  thin,  nasal  tenor,  first  "  The  Red  Sa- 
rafan," ^  and  then  "  Along  a  Paved  Street." 
The  ladies  praised  his  voice  and  the  music,  but 
went  into  raptures  more  particularly  over  the 
softness  and  melody  of  the  Russian  language 
and  demanded  a  translation  of  the  text.  Sanin 
complied  with  their  request— but  as  the  words 
of  "  The  Red  Sarafan,"  and  particularly  those 
of  "Along  a  Paved  Street  "  (sur  une  rue  pavee 
une  jeune  fiUe  allait  a  Veau—\\ms  did  he  ren- 
der the  meaning  of  the  original),  could  not  in- 
spire his  hearers  with  a  lofty  idea  of  Russian 
poetry,  he  first  declaimed,  then  translated,  then 
sang  Pushkin's  "  I  Remember  a  Wondrous 
Moment,"  set  to  music  by  Ghnka,  whose  couplets 
in  minor  tones  he  slightly  distorted.  The  ladies 
went  into  ecstasies,— Frau  Lenore  even  discov- 
ered a  wonderful  resemblance  between  the  Rus- 
sian language  and  the  Italian.     ''  Mnogvenie" 

1  The  sarafan  is  the  frock,  suspended  from  the  shoulders,  of 
peasant  maidens. — Translator. 

21 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

—"o  vieni"—"co  mn6i"—''siam  wof/^— and  so 
forth.  Even  the  names  Pushkin  (she  pro- 
nounced it  Pussekin)  and  Ghnka  sounded  fa- 
mihar  to  her.  Sanin,  in  his  turn,  requested  the 
ladies  to  sing  something:  and  they,  also,  were 
quite  unaffected.  Frau  Lenore  seated  herself  at 
the  piano,  and  in  company  with  Gemma,  she  sang 
several  duettini  and  stornelli.  The  mother  had 
once  had  a  fine  contralto;  the  daughter's  voice 
was  rather  weak,  but  agreeable. 

VI 

It  was  not  Gemma's  voice,  however,  but  the  girl 
herself  that  Sanin  admired.  He  sat  somewhat 
behind  her  and  to  one  side,  and  thought  to  him- 
self that  no  palm-tree— even  in  the  verses  of 
Benediktofif,  who  was  then  the  fashionable  poet, 
—was  capable  of  vying  with  the  slender  ele- 
gance of  her  figure.  And  when,  at  the  sentimen- 
tal notes,  she  rolled  her  eyes  upward,  it  seemed  to 
him  that  there  was  no  heaven  which  would  not 
open  wide  at  such  a  glance.  Even  old  Panta- 
leone,  who  was  leaning  his  shoulder  against  the 
jamb  of  the  door,  with  his  chin  and  mouth  buried 
in  his  capacious  neckcloth,  listened  sedately,  with 
the  air  of  an  expert,— even  he  admired  the  face 
of  the  beautiful  girl,  and  was  amazed  at  it,— and 
yet,  apparently,  he  must  have  been  used  to  it! 
On  finishing  her   duettino   with  her   daughter, 

22 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Frau  Lenore  remarked  that  Emilio  had  a  capital 
voice — genuine  silver — but  that  he  had  now  at- 
tained the  age  when  the  voice  undergoes  a  change 
—  (in  fact,  he  spoke  in  a  sort  of  basso  voice 
which  was  incessantly  breaking)  —and  for  that 
reason,  he  was  forbidden  to  sing;  but  that  Pan- 
taleone  here  might,  in  honor  of  the  visitor,  recall 
his  earlier  days!  Pantaleone  immediately  as- 
sumed an  aspect  of  displeasure,  frowned,  rum- 
pled up  his  hair,  and  announced  that  he  had  long 
since  given  up  all  that  sort  of  thing,  although  he 
really  had  been  able,  in  his  youth,  to  hold  his  own 
— and,  moreover,  in  general,  he  belonged  to  that 
grand  epoch  when  genuine,  classical  singers  ex- 
isted— not  to  be  mentioned  in  the  same  breath 
with  the  squallers  of  the  present  day !  and  a  genu- 
ine school  of  singing;  that  a  laurel  wreath  had 
once  been  presented  to  him,  Pantaleone  Cippa- 
tola,  in  Modena,  and  several  white  doves  had  even 
been  set  free  in  the  theatre  on  that  occasion ;  that, 
among  others,  a  Russian  Prince  Tarbusky— ''^e'Z 
Principe  Tarhusski" — with  whom  he  had  been  on 
the  most  intimate  terms,  had  incessantly  invited 
him,  at  supper,  to  Russia,  had  promised  him 
mountains  of  gold,  mountains!  .  .  .  but  that  he 
had  not  been  wilHng  to  leave  Italy,  the  land  of 
Dante— '^^i'Z  paese  del  Dante!''— later  on,  of 
course,  unfortunate  circumstances  arose,  he  him- 
self was  incautious.  .  .  .  Here  the  old  man  in- 
terrupted himself,  heaved  a  couple  of  profound 

23 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

sighs,  cast  down  his  eyes — and  again  began  to 
talk  about  the  classic  era  of  singing,  about  the 
famous  tenor  Garcia,  for  whom  he  cherished  a 
reverent,  boundless  respect.  "  There  was  a 
man!  "—he  exclaimed.  Never  did  the  great  Gar- 
cia— '"^ il  gran  Garcia!'' — condescend  to  sing  like 
the  wretched  little  tenors  of  the  present  day — 
the  tenor ecci — in  falsetto:  he  always  sang  from 
the  chest,  the  chest,  voce  di  petto,  si!  The  old 
man  dealt  himself  a  stiff  blow  on  his  neckcloth 
with  his  tiny,  lean  hand.  And  what  an  actor !  A 
volcano,  signori  miei,  a  volcano,  un  Vesuvio!  "  I 
had  the  honour  to  sing  with  him  in  the  opera  'delV 
illustrissimo  maestro  Rossini'— in  '  Otello! '  Gar- 
cia was  Otello — I  was  lago — and  when  he  ut- 
tered this  phrase  .  .  .  .  " 

Here  Pantaleone  struck  an  attitude,  and  began 
to  sing  in  a  hoarse  and  quavering,  but  still  pa- 
thetic voice : 

"  L'i.  .  .  .  ra  daver.  ...  so  daver.  .  .  . 

lo  pift  no.  .  .  .  no.  .  .  .  no.  .  .  .  non  temerft! 

The  theatre  quaked,  signori  miei!  but  I  did 
not  stop ;  and  I  also  sang  after  him : 

LM.  .  .  .  ra  daver.  ...  so  daver.  ...  so  11  fate 
Temer  piu  non  dovr6 ! 

And  all  at  once  he— like  lightning,  like  a  tiger: 
'  Morro  ....  ma  vindicato  .  .  .  .  ' 

24 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  Or  here  again,  when  he  sang  ....  when  he 
sang  that  celebrated  aria  from  '^11  Matrimonio 
Segreto':  Pria  che  spunti.  .  .  .  Thenhe,ilgran 
Garcia  J  after  the  words:  I  cavalli  di  galoppo— 
did  this  on  the  words:  Senza  posa  cacciera— lis- 
ten, how  amazing  it  is,  com^e  stupendo!  Then  he 
did  this.  ..."  The  old  man  tried  to  execute 
some  remarkable  sort  of  fioritura — but  broke  off 
short  on  the  tenth  note,  cleared  his  throat,  and 
with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  turned  away,  mutter- 
ing:— "Why  do  you  torture  me?"  Gemma 
immediately  sprang  from  her  chair,  and  clapping 
her  hands  loudly,  with  the  cry:  "Bravo!"  ran  to 
poor,  retired  lago,  and  tapped  him  affectionately 
on  the  shoulders  with  both  hands.  Emile  alone 
laughed  mercilessly.  "  Cet  age  est  sans  pitie" — 
La  Fontaine  has  said. 

Sanin  tried  to  comfort  the  aged  singer,  and 
began  to  talk  with  him  in  the  Italian  tongue— 
(he  had  picked  up  a  little  of  it  during  his  late 
journey) — began  to  talk  about  "II  paese  del 
Dante,  dove  it  si  suona."  This  phrase,  together 
with  "  Lasciate  ogni  speranza/'  constituted  the 
young  tourist's  entire  poetical  baggage  in  Ital- 
ian; but  Pantaleone  did  not  yield  to  his  blan- 
dishments. Plunging  his  chin  more  deeply  than 
ever  into  his  neckcloth,  and  protruding  his 
eyes  morosely,  he  again  resembled  a  bird,  and 
an  enraged  bird,  at  that, — a  crow  or  a  kite. 
Then  ifimile, flushing  slightly  and  momentarily,— 

25 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

as  is  generally  the  case  with  petted  children, — 
turned  to  his  sister,  and  said  to  her  that  if  she 
wished  to  entertain  the  guest,  she  could  devise  no- 
thing better  than  to  read  him  one  of  Maltz's 
little  comedies,  which  she  read  so  well.  Gemma 
laughed,  slapped  her  brother's  hand,  and  ex- 
claimed that  he  "  was  always  inventing  some- 
thing of  that  sort!"  Nevertheless,  she  imme- 
diately went  to  her  own  room,  and  returning 
thence  with  a  small  book  in  her  hand,  seated  her- 
self at  the  table,  near  the  lamp,  cast  a  glance 
about  her,  raised  her  finger— as  much  as  to  say; 
*' Silence!  "—a  purely  Italian  gesture — and  be- 
gan to  read. 

VII 

Maltz  was  a  Frankfurt  writer  of  the  '30's,  who, 
in  his  brief  and  lightly  sketched  little  comedies, 
written  in  the  local  dialect,  portrayed  with  amus- 
ing and  dashing,  although  not  profound  humour, 
the  local  Frankfurt  types.  It  appeared  that 
Gemma  really  did  read  capitally — quite  like  an 
actress.  She  imparted  a  distinct  hue  to  every  per- 
sonage, and  preserved  his  character  finely,  putting 
in  play  her  power  of  mimicry,  which  she  had  in- 
herited along  with  her  Italian  blood;  sparing 
neither  her  tender  voice,  nor  her  beautiful  face, 
when  it  became  necessary  to  portray  either  an 
old  woman  who  had  outlived  her  wits,  or  a  stupid 

26 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

burgomaster, — she  made  the  most  mirth-provok- 
ing grimaces,  screwed  up  her  eyes,  wrinkled  her 
nose,  lisped,  squeaked  shrilly.  .  .  .  She  herself 
did  not  laugh  while  she  was  reading;  but  when 
her  auditors  (with  the  exception  of  Pantaleone, 
truth  to  tell:  he  immediately  withdrew  in  dud- 
geon, as  soon  as  it  was  a  question  of  " quello  fer- 
rofluchto  Tedesco") ,— when  her  auditors  inter- 
rupted her  with  bursts  of  hearty  laughter,  she 
dropped  the  book  on  her  knees,  emitted  a  ringing 
laugh  herself,  with  her  head  thrown  back — and 
her  black  curls  danced  in  soft  tendrils  on  her 
neck,  and  over  her  quivering  shoulders.  When 
the  laughter  ceased,  she  immediately  raised  her 
book,  and  again  imparting  to  her  features  the 
proper  twist,  seriously  resumed  her  reading. 
Sanin  could  not  recover  from  his  amazement  at 
her;  what  particularly  struck  him  was  this:  by 
what  miracle  could  so  ideally-beautiful  a  face 
suddenly  assume  so  comical,  sometimes  almost 
trivial  an  expression?  Gemma's  rendering  of  the 
roles  of  young  girls— the  so-called  "jeuties  pre- 
mieres"— was  less  satisfactory;  she  was  part'cu- 
larly  unsuccessful  with  the  love  scenes;  she  her- 
self was  conscious  of  this,  and  therefore  imparted 
to  them  a  slight  tinge  of  absurdity — as  though 
she  did  not  believe  in  all  those  rapturous  vows 
and  high-flowTi  speeches,  from  which,  moreover, 
the  author  himself  refrained,  so  far  as  that  was 
possible. 

27 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Sanin  did  not  observe  how  the  evening  was  flit- 
ting by — and  only  recalled  his  impending  jour- 
ney when  the  clock  struck  ten.  He  sprang  from 
his  chair  as  though  he  had  been  scalded. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you? " — asked  Frau 
Lenore. 

"  Why,  I  was  to  have  set  oiF  to-day  for  Berlin 
— and  I  have  already  secured  my  place  in  the  dili- 
gence!" 

"And  when  does  the  diligence  start?" 

"At  half -past  ten!" 

"Well,  then  you  will  not  catch  it," — remarked 
Gemma;  "stay  .  .  .  and  I  will  read  some 
more." 

"  Did  you  pay  all  the  money  down,  or  did  you 
merely  make  a  deposit?" — inquired  Frau  Le- 
nora. 

"I  paid  all!"— cried  Sanin,  with  a  sorry 
grimace. 

Gemma  looked  at  him,  narrowed  her  eyes — 
and  laughed,  but  her  mother  reproved  her. — 
"  The  young  man  has  spent  his  money  for  no- 
thing,—and  thou  laughest!" 

"Never  mind!"— replied  Gemma;— "it  will 
not  ruin  him,  and  we  will  try  to  console  him. 
Would  you  like  some  lemonade? " 

Sanin  drank  a  glass  of  lemonade,  Gemma  be- 
gan again  on  Maltz — and  again  everything 
flowed  on  as  smoothly  as  though  it  had  been  oiled. 

28 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

The  clock  struck  twelve.  Sanin  began  to  take 
leave. 

*'  Now  you  must  remain  for  several  days  in 
Frankfurt,"— Gemma  said  to  him:  "  what 's  your 
hurry?  Things  will  be  no  jollier  in  any  other 
town." — She  paused.  "  Really,  they  will  not,"— 
she  added,  smiling.  Sanin  made  no  reply  and 
reflected  that,  in  view  of  the  emptiness  of  his 
purse,  he  would  be  compelled,  willy-nilly,  to  re- 
main in  Frankfurt,  until  an  answer  should  arrive 
from  a  friend  in  Berlin,  to  whom  he  contemplated 
applying  for  money. 

"  Stay,  do  stay,"— Frau  Lenore  added  her  en- 
treaties. "We  will  introduce  you  to  Gemma's 
betrothed,  Herr  Karl  Kliiber.  He  could  not 
come  to-day,  because  he  is  very  busy  in  his  shop 
....  surely  you  must  have  noticed  in  the  Zeil 
the  largest  shop  for  cloths  and  silken  materials? 
Well,  he  is  the  chief  man  there.  But  he  will  be 
very  glad  to  be  presented  to  you." 

This  piece  of  information  chagrined  Sanin 
somewhat— God  knows  why.  "That  betrothed 
is  a  lucky  fellow ! "  flashed  through  his  mind.  He 
glanced  at  Gemma — and  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  descried  a  mocking  expression  in  her  eyes. 
He  began  to  take  leave. 

"  Until  to-morrow?  It  is  until  to-morrow,  is  it 
not?"— asked  Frau  Lenore. 

"Until  to-morrow!"  articulated  Gemma,  not 

29 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

in  an  interrogative  but  in  an  affirmative  tone,  as 
though  it  could  not  be  otherwise. 

"Until  to-morrow!"— responded  Sanin. 

Emile,  Pantaleone,  and  the  poodle  Tartaglia 
escorted  him  to  the  corner  of  the  street.  Panta- 
leone could  not  refrain  from  expressing  his  dis- 
pleasure over  Gemma's  reading. 

*'  She  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  herself!  She 
writhes  and  squeals— una  caricatura!  She  ought 
to  personate  Merope  or  Clytemnestra — some- 
thing grand,  tragic — but  she  mimics  some  mis- 
erable German  female!  I  can  do  that  myself 
.  .  .  .  '  Mertz,  hertz,  smertz/"—he  added,  in  a 
hoarse  voice,  thrusting  forward  his  face,  and 
spreading  out  his  fingers.  Tartaglia  began  to 
bark  at  him,  and  Emile  burst  into  loud  laughter. 
The  old  man  turned  back  abruptly. 

Sanin  returned  to  his  hostelry,  "  The  White 
Swan  "  (he  had  left  his  things  there,  in  the  gen- 
eral room) ,  in  a  decidedly  confused  state  of  mind. 
All  those  German-French-Italian  conversations 
were  fairly  ringing  in  his  ears. 

"An  affianced  bride!"— he  whispered,  as  he 
lay  in  bed,  in  the  modest  chamber  assigned  to  him. 
"  But  what  a  beauty!    But  why  did  I  stay? " 

Nevertheless,  on  the  following  day,  he  des- 
patched a  letter  to  his  friend  in  Berlin, 


30 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


VIII 

Before  he  had  succeeded  in  getting  dressed  a 
waiter  announced  to  him  the  arrival  of  two  gen- 
tlemen. One  of  them  turned  out  to  be  Emile; 
the  other,  a  stately  well-grown  young  man,  with 
an  extremely  handsome  face,  was  Herr  Karl 
Kliiber,  the  betrothed  of  the  lovely  Gemma. 

We  are  at  liberty  to  infer  that,  at  that  time, 
there  was  not,  in  a  single  shop  in  the  whole  of 
Frankfurt,  so  polite,  decorous,  dignified,  and 
amiable  a  head-clerk  as  Herr  Kliiber  showed 
himself  to  be.  The  irreproachableness  of  his 
toilet  equalled  the  dignity  of  his  demeanour,  the 
elegance — somewhat  affected  and  constrained, 
it  is  true,  after  the  English  fashion  (he  had 
spent  a  couple  of  years  in  England) — but, 
nevertheless,  engaging  elegance  of  his  manners! 
At  the  very  first  glance  it  became  clear  that 
this  handsome,  rather  stiff,  excellently  educated 
and  capitally  washed  young  man  was  accus- 
tomed to  obey  his  superiors  and  to  command  his 
inferiors,  and  that  behind  the  counter  of  his 
shop  he  was  bound  to  evoke  the  respect  even  of 
his  patrons!  As  to  his  supernatural  honesty 
there  could  not  exist  the  shadow  of  a  doubt.  A 
glance  at  his  stiffly-starched  cuffs  was  all  that 
was  required.  And  his  voice  proved  to  be  just 
what  was  to  have  been  expected:  thick  and  self- 

31 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

confidently-succulent,  but  not  too  loud,  with 
even  a  certain  caressing  quality  in  the  timbre. 
Such  a  voice  is  particularly  well  adapted  for 
issuing  orders  to  subordinate  clerks:  "  Show  that 
piece  of  crimson  Lyons  velvet!" — or,  "Give 
the  lady  a  chair!  " 

Herr  Kliiber  began  by  introducing  himself, 
during  which  operation  he  bent  his  form  in  so 
noble  a  manner,  moved  his  feet  so  agreeably, 
and  clicked  one  heel  against  the  other  so  cour- 
teously, that  one  was  bound  to  feel:  "  This  man's 
body-linen  and  spiritual  qualities  are  of  the  first 
order!"  The  elaborate  finish  of  his  bare  right 
hand—  (in  his  left,  clad  in  a  glove  of  undressed 
kid,  he  held  a  hat  polished  like  a  mirror,  at  the 
bottom  of  which  lay  the  other  glove)— the  elab- 
orate finish  of  that  right  hand,  which  he  mod- 
estly but  firmly  offered  to  Sanin,— exceeded  all 
belief:  every  nail  was  perfection  in  its  way! 
Then  he  announced,  in  the  choicest  of  German, 
that  he  had  wished  to  express  his  respects  and 
his  gratitude  to  Monsieur  the  Stranger,  who  had 
rendered  such  an  important  service  to  his  future 
relative,  the  brother  of  his  affianced  bride ;  where- 
upon, he  waved  his  left  hand,  which  held  his  hat, 
in  the  direction  of  Emile,  who  seemed  to  feel 
ashamed,  and,  turning  away  to  the  window, 
stuck  his  finger  in  his  mouth.  Herr  Kliiber 
added  that  he  should  consider  himself  happy 
if  he,  on  his  part,  were  in  a  position  to  do  any- 

32 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

thing  agreeable  for  Monsieur  the  Stranger. 
Sanin  replied,  not  without  some  difficulty,  also 
in  German,  that  he  was  delighted  .  .  .  that  his 
service  had  been  of  very  slight  importance  .... 
and  begged  his  visitors  to  be  seated.  Herr 
Kliiber  thanked  him— and,  immediately  draw- 
ing aside  the  skirts  of  his  frock-coat,  dropped 
into  a  chair— but  dropped  so  lightly,  and  held 
himself  upon  it  in  so  precarious  a  manner,  that 
it  was  impossible  not  to  think:  "  This  man  has 
seated  himself  out  of  politeness— and  will  flutter 
off  again  in  another  minute!  "  And,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  he  did  flutter  ofl"  immediately,  and  shift- 
ing bashfully  from  one  foot  to  the  other  a 
couple  of  times,  as  though  dancing,  he  an- 
nounced that,  unhappily,  he  could  not  remain 
longer,  for  he  was  hastening  to  his  shop— busi- 
ness before  everything!— but,  as  to-morrow  was 
Sunday,  he  had,  with  the  consent  of  Frau  Le- 
nore  and  Fraulein  Gemma,  arranged  a  plea- 
sure-party to  Soden,  to  which  he  had  the  honour 
of  inviting  Monsieur  the  Stranger— and  he 
cherished  the  hope  that  the  latter  would  not  re- 
fuse to  adorn  it  with  his  presence.  Sanin  did  not 
refuse  to  adorn  it— and  Herr  Kliiber  made  his 
obeisance  a  second  time,  and  withdrew,  pleas- 
antly fluttering  his  trousers  of  the  most  tender 
greyish-yellow  hue,  and  squeaking  the  soles  of 
his  very  new  boots  in  an  equally  agreeable 
manner. 

33 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


IX 

Emlle,  who  continued  to  stand  with  his  face  to 
the  window,  even  after  Sanin's  invitation  to 
"  be  seated  "—wheeled  round  to  the  left,  as  soon 
as  his  future  relative  was  gone— and,  grimac- 
ing and  blushing  in  childish  fashion,  asked  Sa- 
nin  whether  he  might  remain  a  little  longer  with 
him.  "  I  am  much  better  to-day,"— he  added, — 
"  but  the  doctor  has  forbidden  me  to  work." 

"Pray,  remain!  You  do  not  incommode  mc 
in  the  least," — instantly  exclaimed  Sanin,  who, 
like  all  true  Russians,  was  delighted  to  grasp  at 
the  first  pretext  which  presented  itself  to  escape 
being  forced  to  do  anything  himself. 

Emile  thanked  him— and,  in  the  very  briefest 
space  of  time,  had  made  himself  entirely  at 
home  both  with  him  and  with  his  quarters.  He 
scrutinised  his  things,  and  asked  questions  about 
nearly  every  one  of  them:  where  he  had  bought 
this,  and  what  were  its  merits?  He  helped  him 
to  shave,  remarking  incidentally  that  he  made 
a  mistake  in  not  allowing  his  moustache  to  grow ; 
— he  finally  imparted  to  him  a  multitude  of  de- 
tails concerning  his  mother,  his  sister,  Pantale- 
one,  even  the  poodle  Tartaglia,  and  about  their 
whole  manner  of  life.  Every  trace  of  timidity 
had  vanished  from  Emile;  he  suddenly  experi- 
enced a  remarkable  attraction  toward   Sanin— 

34 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

and  that  not  in  the  least  because  the  latter  had 
saved  his  life  the  day  before,  but  because  he  was 
such  a  sympathetic  man!  He  made  no  delay  in 
confiding  all  his  secrets  to  Sanin.  He  insisted 
with  special  fervour  on  the  fact  that  his  mamma 
was  positively  set  upon  making  a  merchant  of 
him— while  he  knew  for  a  certainty  that  he  was 
born  to  be  an  artist,  a  musician,  a  singer ;  that  the 
theatre  was  his  true  vocation;  that  even  Pantale- 
one  encouraged  him,  but  that  Herr  Kliiber  up- 
held his  mamma,  over  whom  he  had  great  in- 
fluence ;  that  the  very  idea  of  making  a  merchant 
of  him  belonged  to  Herr  Kliiber,  according  to 
whose  conceptions  nothing  in  the  world  could 
compare  with  the  calling  of  the  merchant!  To 
sell  cloth  and  velvet,  and  swindle  the  public,  to 
get  from  it  "Narren-  oder  Russen-Preise"  (fools' 
or  Russians'  prices)  —that  was  his  ideal !^ 

"Well,  never  mind!  now  we  must  go  to  our 
house!  "—exclaimed  he,  as  soon  as  Sanin  had 
completed  his  toilet,  and  had  written  his  letter  to 
Berlin. 

"  It  is  early  yet," — remarked  Sanin. 

"  That  makes  no  difference," — said  Emile, 
coaxingly.  "  Come  along !  We  will  stop  at 
the  post-office — and  from  there   go  on  to   our 

*  In  days  gone  by— yes,  and  probably  even  now— there  has  been 
no  change  in  this  respect:  when,  beginning  with  the  month  of  May, 
a  multitude  of  Russians  made  their  appearance  in  Frankfurt,  the 
prices  rose  in  all  the  shops,  and  received  the  title  of  "  Russen-" — 
or,  alas ! — "  Narren-Preise." — Author's  Note. 

85 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

house.  Gemma  will  be  so  glad  to  see  you! 
You  shall  breakfast  with  us  ...  .  you  can 
say  something  to  mamma  about  me,  about  my 
career.  ... 

"Well,  come  on,  then,"— said  Sanin— and 
they  set  out. 

X 

Gemma  really  was  delighted  to  see  him,  and 
Frau  Lenore  greeted  him  in  a  very  friendly  wise. 
It  was  plain  that  he  had  produced  a  good  im- 
pression on  all  of  them  the  preceding  evening. 
Emile  ran  to  see  about  breakfast,  with  a  prelim- 
inary whisper  in  Sanin's  ear:  "Don't  forget!" 

"  I  will  not," — replied  Sanin. 

Frau  Lenore  was  not  feeling  quite  well:  she 
was  suffering  from  a  sick  headache— and,  half 
reclining  in  an  arm-chair,  she  tried  to  avoid  mov- 
ing. Gemma  wore  a  loose  yellow  morning- 
gown,  girt  with  a  black  leather  belt;  she,  also, 
appeared  fatigued,  and  had  grown  a  little  pale; 
dark  circles  shadowed  her  eyes,  but  their  bril- 
liancy was  not  diminished  thereby,  and  her  pal- 
lor imparted  a  certain  mystery  and  charm  to  the 
classic  severitj^  of  her  features.  Sanin  was  par- 
ticularly impressed  that  day  by  the  elegant 
beauty  of  her  hands.  When  she  adjusted  and 
held  up  with  them  her  dark,  lustrous  curls  he 
could  not  tear  his  eyes  from  her  fingers,  slender 

36 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

and  long,  and  standing  apart  from  one  another, 
as  in  Raffaele's  "  Fornarina." 

It  was  very  hot  out  of  doors.  After  break- 
fast Sanin  started  to  go  away,  but  he  was  told 
that  on  such  a  day  it  was  better  not  to  move 
from  one  spot — and  he  assented;  he  remained. 
In  the  rear  room,  in  which  he  sat  with  his  host- 
esses, coolness  reigned;  the  windows  opened 
upon  a  tiny  garden,  overgrown  with  acacias.  A 
multitude  of  bees,  wasps,  and  bumble-bees 
hummed  sturdily  and  greedily  in  their  thick 
branches,  studded  with  golden  flowers;  through 
the  half -closed  shutters  and  lowered  shades  that 
unceasing  sound  penetrated  into  the  room:  it 
spoke  of  the  sultry  heat  disseminated  in  the 
outer  air — and  the  coolness  of  the  closed  and 
comfortable  dwelling  became  all  the  more  sweet 
by  reason  of  it. 

As  on  the  preceding  evening,  Sanin  talked 
a  great  deal,  but  not  about  Russia,  and  not  about 
Russian  life.  Desirous  of  gratifying  his  young 
friend,  who  was  sent  off  to  Herr  Kliiber  im- 
mediately after  breakfast,  to  practise  book- 
keeping, he  turned  the  conversation  upon  the 
comparative  advantages  and  disadvantages  of 
art  and  commerce.  He  was  not  surprised  that 
Frau  Lenore  upheld  the  side  of  commerce— he 
had  expected  that;  but  Genmia  also  shared  her 
opinion. 

"  If    you    are    an    artist,— and    especially    a 

37 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

singer,"— she  asserted,  with  an  energetic  down- 
ward movement  of  her  hand,—"  you  must,  with- 
out fail,  be  in  the  first  place !    The  second  is  good 
for  nothing;  and  who  knows  whether  you  can 
attain    to    the    first    place?"— Pantaleone,    who 
was  also  taking  part  in  the  conversation —  (in  his 
quality  of  ancient  servitor  and  an  old  man,  he 
was  even  permitted  to  sit  on  a  chair  in  the  pres- 
ence of  his  mistress;  the  Italians,  in  general,  are 
not  strict  as  to  etiquette)  —Pantaleone,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course,  stood  up  stoutly  for  art.     Truth 
to  tell,  his  arguments  were  decidedly  feeble.    He 
talked  chiefly  about  the  necessity,  first  of  all,  of 
possessing  un  certo  estro  dfinspirazione — a  cer- 
tain impetuosity  of  inspiration.     Frau  Lenore 
observ^ed  to  him  that  he  himself,  of  course,  did 
possess  that  "estro"— Sindi  yet   .    .    .    .    "I  had 
enemies," — remarked    Pantaleone,    morosely. — 
"  Well,  but  how  dost  thou  know  "—  (the  Ital- 
ians, as  every  one  knows,  easily  fall  into  address- 
ing  as  "  thou  ")  — "  that  Emile  also  will  not  have 
enemies,  even  if  that  '^ estro'  should  be  discov- 
ered   in    him?"— "Well,    then,    make    a    shop- 
keeper out  of  him," — said  Pantaleone,  angrily. 
— "  But  Giovan'  Battista  would  not  have  acted 
so,  even  if  he  was  a  confectioner  himself!  " — 
"  Giovan'  Battista,  my  husband,  was  a  sensible 
man— and    even    if    he    was    tempted    in    his 
youth  .  .  .  ."      But    the    old    man    would    no 
longer  listen,  and  took  himself  off,  after  having 

38 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

once  more  said  reproachfully:  "Ah!  Giovan' 
Battista!"  .  .  .  Gemma  exclaimed  that  if 
Emile  felt  himself  a  patriot,  and  wished  to  con- 
secrate all  his  forces  to  the  emancipation  of 
Italy,— of  course,  for  such  a  lofty  and  sacred 
aim  a  safe  future  might  be  sacrificed— but  not 
for  the  theatre!  At  this  point,  Frau  Lenore  be- 
gan excitedly  to  entreat  her  daughter  not  to  lead 
her  brother  astray,  at  least,— and  to  be  content 
with  the  fact  that  she  herself  was  such  a  desper- 
ate republican!  After  uttering  these  words, 
Frau  Lenore  groaned,  and  began  to  complain  of 
her  head,  which  "  was  ready  to  burst."  (Frau 
Lenore,  out  of  respect  for  her  guest,  talked  in 
French  to  her  daughter.) 

Gemma  immediately  began  to  tend  her, 
breathed  softly  on  her  brow,  first  moistening  it 
with  eau  de  cologne,  softly  kissed  her  cheeks, 
laid  her  head  on  a  cushion,  forbade  her  to  speak 
— and  kissed  her  again.  Then,  turning  to  Sanin, 
she  began  to  tell  him,  in  a  half -jesting,  half- 
moved  tone,  what  a  splendid  mother  she  had, 
and  what  a  beauty  she  had  been !  "  Why  do  I 
say,  '  has  been ! '  she  is  charming  even  now. 
Look,  look,  what  eyes  she  has!  " 

Gemma  immediately  pulled  from  her  pocket 
a  white  handkerchief,  covered  her  mother's  face 
with  it— and  slowly  lowering  the  edge  from 
above  downward,  gradually  revealed  the  fore- 
head, the  eyebrows,  and  the  eyes  of  Frau  Lenore. 

39 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

She  paused,  and  requested  her  to  open  them. 
Her  mother  obeyed;  Gemma  cried  aloud  with 
rapture  (Frau  Lenore's  eyes  really  were  very 
handsome)  — and  swiftly  slipping  the  handker- 
chief past  the  lower,  less  regular  portion  of  her 
mother's  face,  she  began  to  kiss  her  again.  Frau 
Lenore  laughed,  and  turned  slightly  away,  and 
thrust  her  daughter  from  her  with  some  little 
force.  The  latter  pretended  to  wrestle  with  her 
mother,  and  nestled  up  to  her— yet  not  cat- wise, 
or  in  the  French  manner,  but  with  that  Italian 
grace,  in  which  the  presence  of  strength  is  al- 
ways to  be  felt. 

At  last  Frau  Lenore  declared  that  she  was 
weary.  .  .  .  Then  G^mma  immediately  advised 
her  to  take  a  little  nap,  there,  in  her  chair, — "  and 
the  Russian  gentleman  and  I  .  .  '^  avec  le  mon- 
sieur russe'—w\\\  be  so  quiet,  so  quiet — like  lit- 
tle mice  ....  comme  des  petits  souris."  Frau 
Lenore  smiled  at  her  in  reply,  closed  her  eyes, 
and  after  drawing  a  few  long  breaths,  fell  into 
a  doze. 

Gemma  briskly  dropped  upon  a  bench  beside 
her  and  made  no  further  movement,  except  that, 
from  time  to  time,  she  raised  the  finger  of  one 
hand  to  her  lips — with  the  other,  she  was  support- 
ing the  cushion  under  her  mother's  head— and 
hissed  in  a  barely-audible  manner,  casting  a  side- 
long glance  at  Sanin,  when  the  latter  permitted 
himself  the  slightest  movement.    It  ended  in  his 

40 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

becoming  as  still  as  death,  and  sitting  immovably, 
as  though  enchanted,  and  with  all  the  powers  of 
his  soul  admiring  the  picture  which  was  presented 
to  him  by  this  half -dark  room,  where  here  and 
there,  like  brilliant  spots,  glowed  fresh,  magnifi- 
cent roses,  placed  in  antique,  green  glasses — and 
that  slumbering  woman,  with  modestly-folded 
hands,  and  a  kind,  weary  face,  framed  in  the 
snowy  white  of  the  pillow,  and  that  young,  alertly- 
watchful  and  likewise  kind,  clever,  pure,  and  un- 
speakably-beautiful being,  with  those  deep  black 
eyes,  filled  with  shadow  and  yet  beaming.  .  .  . 
What  was  it?  A  dream?  A  fairy-tale?  And 
how  came  he  there? 

XI 

The  little  bell  tinkled  over  the  outer  door.  A 
young  peasant  lad,  in  a  fur  cap  and  a  red  waist- 
coat, entered  the  confectionery  shop  from  the 
street.  From  early  morning,  not  a  single  cus- 
tomer had  even  peeped  into  it.  .  .  .  "That  's  the 
way  we  do  business!  " — Frau  Lenore  had  re- 
marked to  Sanin,  with  a  sigh,  during  breakfast. 
She  continued  to  sleep ;  Gemma  was  afraid  to  re- 
move her  hand  from  the  pillow,  and  whispered  to 
Sanin:  "  Go,  trade  for  me! "  Sanin  immediately 
stole  out  on  tiptoe  to  the  shop.  The  lad  wanted 
a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  mint  lozenges. — "  How 
much  shall  I  charge  him?  "—Sanin  asked  Gemma 

41 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

in  a  whisper,  through  the  door. — "  Six  kreutzers !" 
— she  repHed,  in  a  corresponding  whisper.  Sa- 
nin  weighed  out  a  quarter  of  a  pound,  hunted  up 
some  paper,  made  a  horn  of  it,  wrapped  up  the 
lozenges,  spilled  them,  wrapped  them  up  again, 
spilled  them  again,  and  finally  delivered  them, 
and  received  the  money.  .  •  .  The  boy  stared  at 
him  in  amazement,  twisting  his  cap  about  on  his 
belly,  and  in  the  adjoining  room,  Gemma  stopped 
up  her  mouth,  and  swooned  with  laughter.  Be- 
fore that  customer  could  retire,  another  made  his 
appearance,  then  a  third.  ..."  Evidently,  I 
bring  luck!  "  thought  Sanin.  The  second  asked 
for  a  glass  of  orgeat ;  the  third,  for  half  a  pound 
of  candy.  Sanin  waited  on  them,  rattling  the 
spoons  with  zeal,  setting  out  saucers,  and  boldly 
dipping  his  fingers  into  drawers  and  jars.  On 
reckoning  up,  it  appeared  that  he  had  asked  too 
little  for  the  orgeat,  and  had  charged  two  kreut- 
zers too  much  for  the  candy.  Gemma  did  not 
cease  to  laugh  quietly,  and  Sanin  was  conscious 
of  an  unwonted,  peculiarly  happy  frame  of  mind. 
It  seemed  as  though  he  could  stand  like  that  be- 
hind a  counter  all  his  life,  and  deal  out  orgeat 
and  candy,  while  such  a  lovely  being  was  watch- 
ing him  from  behind  the  door  with  eves  full  of 
friendly  ridicule;  and  the  summer  sun,  forcing 
its  way  through  the  dense  foliage  of  the  chestnut- 
trees  which  grew  in  front  of  the  windows,  filled 
the  whole  room  with  the  greenish-golden  raj'S  of 

42 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

noonday,  with  noonday  shadows,  and  the  heart 
grew  tender  with  the  sweet  languor  of  idleness, 
freedom  from  care,  and  youth — early  youth! 

The  fourth  customer  ordered- a  cup  of  coffee; 
he  was  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  Pantaleone 
(Emile  had  not  yet  returned  from  Herr  Kliiber's 
shop).  Sanin  seated  himself  again  by  Gemma's 
side.  Frau  Lenore  continued  to  sleep,  to  the 
great  satisfaction  of  her  daughter.  — "  Mamma's 
headache  passes  off  while  she  sleeps," — she  re- 
marked. Sanin  began  to  talk — in  a  whisper,  as 
before,  of  course — about  his  "trade";  inquired 
very  seriously  as  to  the  prices  of  the  various  "  con- 
fectionery" wares;  Gemma,  in  an  equally  seri- 
ous manner,  told  him  the  prices,  and,  in  the  mean- 
time, both  laughed  inwardly  and  heartily,  as 
though  conscious  that  thej^  were  playing  a  very 
amusing  comedy.  All  at  once,  in  the  street,  a 
hand-organ  struck  up  the  air: ''  Durch  die  F elder, 
durch  die  Auen"  .  .  .  The  plaintive  sounds 
wailed  quavering  and  whistling  on  the  motionless 
air.  G^mma  shuddered.  ..."  He  will  waken 
mamma!  "  Sanin  instantty  ran  out  into  the  street, 
thrust  several  kreutzers  into  the  hand  of  the  or- 
gan-grinder—and made  him  stop  and  go  away. 
When  he  returned,  Gemma  thanked  him  with  a 
slight  nod  of  the  head,  and,  pensively  smiling, 
began  herself,  in  a  barely-audible  voice,  to  hum 
Weber's  beautiful  melody,  in  which  Max  ex- 
presses all  the  bewilderment  of  first  love.    Then 

43 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

she  asked  Sanin  whether  he  was  acquainted  with 
"  Freischiitz,"  whether  he  hked  Weber,  and 
added  that,  although  she  herself  was  an  Italian, 
she  loved  such  music  best  of  all.  From  Weber 
the  conversation  glided  to  poetry  and  romanti- 
cism, to  Hoffmann,  whom  every  one  was  reading 
at  that  time.  .  . 

And  Frau  Lenore  slept  on,  and  even  snored 
faintly,  and  the  rays  of  sunlight,  piercing 
through  the  shutters  in  narrow  strips,  impercep- 
tibly, but  incessantly,  moved  about  and  travelled 
over  the  floor,  over  the  furniture,  over  Gemma's 
gown,  over  the  leaves  and  petals  of  the  flowers. 

XII 

It  appeared  that  Gemma  did  not  particularly 
favour  Hofl'mann,  and  even  found  him  .  .  .  tire- 
some! The  fantastically-obscure,  northern  ele- 
ment of  his  tales  was  not  very  perceptible  to  her 
bright,  southern  nature.  "  They  are  all  fairy 
tales,  written  for  children!"  she  asserted,  not 
without  disdain.  She  also  had  a  confused  con- 
sciousness of  the  absence  of  poetry  in  Hoffmann. 
But  there  was  one  of  his  tales,  whose  title, 
however,  she  had  forgotten,  which  pleased  her 
greatly.  Properly  speaking,  only  the  beginning 
of  the  tale  pleased  her :  she  had  not  read  the  end, 
or  had  forgotten  it  also.  It  was  about  a  young 
man,  who,  somewhere  or  other,  in  a  confectioner's 

44 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

shop,  so  far  as  she  remembered,  meets  a  young 
girl  of  striking  beauty,  a  Greek;  she  is  accom- 
panied by  a  mysterious  and  queer  old  man.  The 
young  man  falls  in  love  with  the  girl  at  the  first 
glance;  she  gazes  at  him  so  pitifully,  as  though 
entreating  him  to  set  her  free.  .  .  .  He  with- 
draws for  a  moment— and  on  returning  to  the 
confectioner's  shop,  he  no  longer  finds  either  the 
young  girl  or  the  old  man ;  he  rushes  to  seek  her, 
is  incessantly  coming  across  perfectly  fresh  traces 
of  them,  follows  them— and  by  no  means,  no- 
where, never  can  he  overtake  them.  The  beauty 
vanishes  from  him  forever  and  ever— and  he  is 
powerless  to  forget  her  beseeching  look,  and  is 
tortured  by  the  thought  that,  perchance,  all  the 
happiness  of  his  life  has  slipped  out  of  his  hands. 

Hoffmann  hardly  ends  his  tale  in  just  that 
way;  but  so  she  had  constructed  it,  and  so  it  re- 
mained in  Gemma's  memory. 

"  It  seems  to  me," — she  said, — "  that  such 
meetings  and  such  partings  occur  in  the  world 
more  frequently  than  we  think." 

Sanin  remained  silent  ....  and,  a  little  while 
later,  began  to  talk  about  ....  Herr  Kliiber. 
It  was  the  fii'st  time  he  had  mentioned  him :  he  had 
not  even  alluded  to  him  until  that  moment. 

Gemma  became  silent,  in  her  turn,  and  medi- 
tated, lightly  biting  the  nail  of  her  forefinger,  and 
fixing  her  eyes  on  one  side.  Then  she  began  to 
laud  her  betrothed,  referred  to  the  pleasure-party 

45 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

which  he  had  arranged  for  the  following  day, 
and,  darting  a  swift  glance  at  Sanin,  she  re- 
lapsed into  silence  again. 

Sanin  did  not  know  what  subject  of  conversa- 
tion to  start. 

Emile  ran  noisily  in,  and  woke  Frau  Lenore. 
.  .  .  Sanin  rejoiced  at  his  arrival. 

Frau  Lenore  rose  from  her  chair.  Pantaleone 
presented  himself,  and  announced  that  dinner 
was  ready.  The  household  friend,  the  ex-singer 
and  servant,  also  discharged  the  functions  of 
cook. 

XIII 

Sanin  remained  even  after  dinner.  They  would 
not  let  him  go,  still  under  the  same  pretext  of 
the  frightful  sultriness, — and  when  the  sultriness 
abated,  they  proposed  to  him  to  go  into  the  gar- 
den, and  drink  coffee  under  the  shade  of  the 
acacias.  Sanin  accepted.  He  felt  greatly  at  his 
ease.  In  the  monotonously-quiet  and  smoothly- 
flowing  current  of  life  great  delights  are  hidden, 
— and  he  surrendered  himself  to  them  with  delec- 
tation, demanding  nothing  in  particular  from  the 
present  day,  but  also  thinking  nothing  about  the 
morrow,  recalling  not  yesterday.  What  was  not 
proximity  to  such  a  young  girl  as  Gemma  worth  ? 
He  would  soon  part  from  her,  and,  in  all  proba- 
bility, forever;  but  while  one  and  the  same  bark 

46 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

bears  them  along  the  cahned  floods  of  life,  as  in 
Uhland's  romance— rejoice,  enjoy  thyself,  O 
traveller!  And  everything  seemed  pleasant  and 
charming  to  the  happy  voyager.  Frau  Lenore 
proposed  that  he  should  contend  with  her  and 
Pantaleone  at  "  tresette,"  taught  him  that  far 
from  complicated  Italian  game  of  cards — won  a 
few  kreutzers  from  him — and  he  was  greatly 
pleased.  Pantaleone,  at  the  request  of  Emile, 
made  the  poodle  Tartaglia  to  go  through  all  his 
tricks— and  Tartaglia  leaped  over  a  stick, 
"  talked,"  that  is  to  say,  barked,  sneezed,  shut  the 
door  with  his  nose,  fetched  the  patched  slipper 
of  his  master, — and,  to  wind  up,  with  an  old  shako 
on  his  head,  represented  Marshal  Bernadotte, 
subjected  to  the  harsh  reproofs  of  the  Emperor 
Napoleon  for  his  treachery.  Pantaleone,  of 
course,  represented  Napoleon— and  represented 
him  very  faithfully.  He  folded  his  arms  on  his 
chest,  pulled  a  three-cornered  hat  down  over  his 
eyes— and  spoke  roughly  and  sharply,  in  French; 
but,  O  heavens,  in  what  French!  TartagHa  sat 
up  in  front  of  his  commander,  all  shrivelled  up, 
with  his  tail  tucked  between  his  legs,  and  wink- 
ing and  screwing  up  his  eyes  confusedly  under 
the  visor  of  the  shako,  which  was  on  awry.  From 
time  to  time,  when  Napoleon  raised  his  voice,  Ber- 
nadotte rose  on  his  hind  legs.  ''  Fuori,  tradi- 
tore!"  shouted  Napoleon,  at  last,  forgetting,  in 
the  excess  of  his  indignation,  that  he  ought  to 

47 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

preserve  his  French  character  to  the  end— and 
Bernadotte  dashed  headlong  under  the  divan, 
but  immediately  sprang  out  again,  with  a  joyful 
bark,  as  though  giving  it  to  be  understood  that 
the  performance  was  at  an  end.  All  the  specta- 
tors laughed  a  great  deal— and  Sanin  most  of  all. 

Gemma  had  a  peculiarly  charming,  incessant, 
quiet  laugh,  interspersed  with  very  amusing  little 
squeaks.  .  .  .  Sanin  fairly  went  to  pieces  under 
that  laugh — he  would  have  liked  to  kiss  her,  for 
those  squeaks! 

Night  came  at  last.  One  must  not  abuse  kind- 
ness !  After  bidding  them  all  good  night  several 
times,  after  saying  several  times  to  all  of  them: 
"  Farewell  until  to-morrow ! "  (he  even  exchanged 
kisses  with  Emile),  Sanin  wended  his  way  home- 
ward, and  carried  with  him  the  image  of  the 
young  girl,  now  laughing,  now  pensive,  now  com- 
posed, and  even  indifferent — but  always  fasci- 
nating! Her  eyes,  now  widely-opened  and  bright 
and  joyous  as  the  day,  again  half -veiled  by  her 
lashes,  and  deep,  and  dark  as  night,  fairly  stood 
before  his  eyes,  strangely  and  sweetly  piercing 
through  all  other  images  and  scenes. 

Of  Herr  Kliiber,  of  the  cause  which  had 
moved  him  to  linger  in  Frankfurt — in  a  word, 
of  all  that  which  had  agitated  him  on  the  pre- 
ceding day — he  did  not  think  even  once. 


48 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


XIV 

But  we  must  say  a  few  words  about  Sanin  him- 
self. 

In  the  fii'st  place,  he  was  very,  very  far  from 
being!  bad-looking.  A  stately,  slender  figure, 
agreeable,  rather  formless  features,  small  caress- 
ing blue  eyes,  golden  hair,  a  white-and-red  com- 
plexion— chief  of  aU,  that  artlessly -merry,  con- 
fiding, frank  expression,  rather  stupid  at  first 
sight,  by  which,  in  times  gone  by,  it  was  pos- 
sible instantly  to  recognise  the  children  of  digni- 
fied noble  families,  "  father's  "  sons,  nice  young 
lordlings,  born  and  fattened  in  our  spacious, 
half -steppe  regions; — a  walk  with  a  hitch,  a 
voice  with  a  lisp,  a  smile  like  that  of  a  child, 
as  soon  as  one  glances  at  it.  .  .  .  In  conclusion, 
freshness,  health— and  softness,  softness,  soft- 
ness,—there  you  have  Sanin  complete.  And  in 
the  second  place,  he  was  not  stupid,  and  had  ac- 
quired a  few  things.  He  remained  fresh,  not- 
withstanding his  trip  abroad.  The  agitated 
emotions,  which  tossed  with  storm  the  best  part 
of  the  youth  of  that  day,  were  little  known  to 
him. 

Of  late,  in  our  literature,  after  the  vain  search 
for  "  new  men,"  people  have  begun  to  depict 
youths  who  have  made  up  their  minds,  cost  what 
it  may,  to  remain  fresh  ....  fresh  as  Flens- 

49 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

burg  oysters  imported  to  St.  Petersburg.  .  .  . 
Sanin  did  not  resemble  them.  And,  as  long  as 
it  has  become  a  question  of  comparisons,  he  re- 
minded one,  rather,  of  a  bushy  young  apple-tree, 
recently  planted  in  our  black-earth  orchards,— 
or,  better  still,  of  a  well-groomed,  smooth,  thick- 
legged,  tender  three-year-old  of  former  "  gen- 
tlemen's "  stud-farms,  whom  they  have  just  be- 
gun to  lead  with  a  thong.  .  .  .  Those  who  came 
in  contact  with  Sanin  later  on,  when  life  had 
thoroughly  broken  him  in,  and  the  young,  fleet- 
ing plumpness  had  long  since  worked  off  of  him, 
beheld  in  him  a  totally  different  man. 

On  the  following  day,  Sanin  was  still  in  bed, 
when  Emile,  in  holiday  attire,  with  a  slender 
cane  in  his  hand,  and  heavily  pomaded,  burst 
into  his  room,  and  announced  that  Herr  Kliiber 
would  be  there  directly  with  a  carriage,  and  that 
the  weather  promised  to  be  wonderfully  fine, 
that  they  already  had  everything  in  readiness, 
but  that  mamma  would  not  go,  because  her  head 
was  aching  again.  He  began  to  urge  Sanin  to 
haste,  assuring  him  that  he  had  not  a  minute 
to  lose.  .  .  .  And,  in  fact,  Herr  Kliiber  found 
Sanin  still  busy  with  his  toilet.  He  knocked  at 
the  door,  entered,  bowed,  inclined  his  body,  ex- 
pressed a  readiness  to  wait  as  long  as  he  liked 
—and  sat  down,  with  his  hat  resting  elegantly 
against  his  knee.     The  good-looking  clerk  had 

50 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

dressed  himself  foppishly  and  scented  himself 
to  excess;  his  every  movement  was  accompanied 
by  an  augmented  billow  of  the  most  delicate  per- 
fume. He  had  arrived  in  a  commodious,  open 
carriage,  a  so-called  landau,  drawn  by  two 
powerful  and  well-grown,  though  not  handsome 
horses.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  Sanin,  Klii- 
ber,  and  Emile  drove  up  triumphantly,  in  that 
same  carriage,  to  the  door  of  the  confectionery 
shop.  Signora  Roselli  positively  refused  to  take 
part  in  the  excursion;  Gemma  wished  to  remain 
with  her  mother;  but  the  latter  drove  her  out, 
as  the  saying  is. 

"  I  want  no  one," — she  asserted.  "  I  am  go- 
ing to  sleep.  I  w^ould  send  Pantaleone  with 
you,"— she  added,— "but  there  would  be  no  one 
left  to  tend  the  shop." 

"  May  we  take  Tartaglia?  "—asked  Emile. 

"  Certainly  you  may." 

Tartaglia  immediately,  with  joyful  efforts, 
clambered  up  onto  the  box  and  seated  himself, 
licking  his  chops.  Evidently,  he  was  used  to 
it.  Gemma  donned  a  large  straw  hat  with  light- 
brown  ribbons;  this  hat  was  bent  down  in  front, 
shading  nearly  the  whole  of  her  face  from  the 
sun.  The  line  of  shadow  was  dra^\Ti  just  above 
her  lips.  They  glowed  virginally  and  tenderly, 
like  the  petals  of  a  hundred-leaved  rose,  and  her 
teeth  gleamed  out  by  stealth— also  innocently, 
as  with  children.     Gemma  installed  herself  on 

51 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

the  back  seat,  beside  Sanin;  Kliiber  and  Emile 
seated  themselves  opposite.  Frau  Lenore's  pale 
face  showed  itself  at  the  window,  Gemma  waved 
her  handkerchief  at  it— and  the  horses  started. 

XV 

SoDEN  is  a  small  town,  half  an  hour's  journey 
from  Frankfurt.  It  lies  in  a  beautiful  situation, 
on  the  foot-hills  of  the  T  annus  range,  and  is 
known  to  us,  in  Russia,  for  its  waters,  which  are 
supposed  to  be  good  for  people  with  weak 
chests.  Frankfurters  resort  thither  chiefly  for 
diversion,  as  Soden  possesses  a  fine  park  and 
various  Wirthschaften,  where  beer  and  coffee 
can  be  drunk  under  the  shade  of  lofty  lindens 
and  maples.  The  road  from  Frankfurt  to 
Soden  runs  along  the  right  bank  of  the  Main, 
and  is  planted  throughout  with  fruit-trees. 
While  the  carriage  was  rolling  gently  along  the 
excellent  highway,  Sanin  stealthily  watched 
Gemma's  behaviour  to  her  betrothed.  He  saw 
them  together  for  the  first  time.  She  bore  her- 
self with  composure  and  simplicity — but  was 
somewhat  more  reserved  and  serious  than  usual. 
He  had  the  gaze  of  a  condescending  superior, 
who  was  permitting  himself  and  his  subordinates 
a  modest  and  discreet  pleasure.  Sanin  observed 
no  special  attentions  to  Gemma,  nothing  of  that 
which    the   French   call    empressementj   on   his 

52 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

part.  It  was  evident  that  Herr  Kliiber  consid- 
ered that  the  matter  was  settled,  and,  therefore, 
there  was  no  cause  for  bothering  himself  or  get- 
ting agitated.  But  his  condescension  did  not 
abandon  him  for  a  single  moment!  Even  dur- 
ing the  long  stroll  before  dinner,  over  the 
wooded  hills  and  valleys  behind  Soden,  even 
while  enjoying  the  beauties  of  nature,  he  bore 
himself  toward  it,  that  same  nature,  ever  with 
the  same  condescension,  through  which,  from 
time  to  time,  his  wonted  sternness  of  a  superior 
broke  forth.  Thus,  for  example,  he  remarked 
about  one  brook  that  it  ran  too  straight  through 
the  hollow,  instead  of  making  a  few  picturesque 
turns;  neither  did  he  approve  of  the  conduct  of 
one  bird — a  chaffinch,  which  did  not  introduce 
enough  variations  into  its  song.  Gemma  was 
not  bored,  and  even,  to  all  appearances,  was 
pleased;  but  Sanin  did  not  recognise  in  her  the 
former  Gemma:  not  that  a  shadow  had  come 
over  her — her  beauty  had  never  been  more  ra- 
diant than  now — but  her  soul  had  retreated  into 
itself,  within  her.  Opening  her  parasol,  and 
leaving  her  gloves  buttoned,  she  walked  on 
sedately,  without  haste, — as  well-trained  young 
girls  do— and  said  little.  Emile  also  felt  con- 
strained, much  more  so  Sanin.  Among  other 
things,  he  was  somewhat  embarrassed  by  the 
circumstance  that  the  conversation  was  con- 
ducted   uninterruptedly    in    the    German    lan- 

53 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

guage.  Tartaglia  was  the  only  one  who  was 
not  depressed!  With  wild  barking,  he  dashed 
after  the  thrushes  which  crossed  his  path,  leaped 
over  gullies,  stumps,  water-holes;  he  hurled  him- 
self with  a  flourish  into  the  water,  and  hastily- 
lapped  it  up,  shook  himself,  whined — and  again 
bounded  off  like  an  arrow,  with  his  red  tongue 
lolling  out  on  his  very  shoulder.  Herr  Kliiber, 
on  his  side,  did  everything  which  he  regarded 
as  necessar}^  for  the  amusement  of  the  party. 
He  invited  them  to  sit  down  beneath  the  shadow 
of  a  spreading  oak— and,  pulling  from  his  side- 
pocket  a  small  book,  entitled  "  Knallerslehen— 
oder  du  sollst  und  willst  lachen!"  ("Petards— 
or  thou  must  and  "v^ilt  laugh  ") ,  he  began  to  read 
them  unconnected  anecdotes,  with  which  the 
little  book  was  filled.  He  read  them  a  dozen; 
but  he  aroused  little  mirth;  Sanin  alone,  out  of 
politeness,  showed  his  teeth  in  a  grin,  and  Herr 
Kliiber  himself,  after  every  anecdote,  emitted 
a  curt,  business-like— and,  at  the  same  time, 
condescending— laugh.  At  twelve  o'clock,  the 
entire  party  returned  to  Soden,  to  the  best  res- 
taurant in  the  place. 

The  question  of  arranging  for  dinner  arose. 

Herr  Kliiber  proposed  that  the  dinner  should 
take  place  in  an  arbour,  shut  in  on  all  sides— 
"im  Gartensalon:'  But  at  this  point  Gemma 
suddenly  rose  in  rebellion,  and  declared  that  she 
would  not  dine  otherwise  than  in  the  open  au-, 

54 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

in  the  garden,  at  one  of  the  little  tables  placed 
in  front  of  the  restaurant ;  that  it  bored  her  to  be 
all  the  time  with  the  same  set  of  people,  and  that 
she  wanted  to  see  others.  Groups  of  newly-ar- 
rived visitors  were  already  seated  at  several  of 
the  tables. 

While  Herr  Kliiber  condescendingly  submit- 
ted to  "  the  caprice  of  his  betrothed,"  and  went  to 
confer  with  the  head-waiter.  Gemma  stood  mo- 
tionless, with  eyes  cast  down  and  lips  tightly 
compressed.  She  was  conscious  that  Sanin  was 
gazing  fixedly  and  interrogatively,  as  it  were, 
at  her— and  this  seemed  to  enrage  her.  At  last, 
Herr  Kliiber  returned,  announced  that  dinner 
would  be  ready  in  half  an  hour,  and  suggested 
that  they  play  at  ninepins  until  that  time;  add- 
ing that  that  was  very  good  for  the  appetite, 
he,  he,  he!  He  played  ninepins  in  a  masterty 
manner.  In  throwing  the  ball  he  assumed  won- 
derfully dashing  poses,  made  his  muscles  play  in 
a  foppish  way,  foppishly  flourished  and  shook 
his  leg.  In  his  way,  he  was  an  athlete — and 
capitally  built.  And  his  hands  were  so  white 
and  handsome,  and  he  rubbed  them  with  such  a 
very  rich,  golden-patterned  India  silk  hand- 
kerchief ! 

The  dinner-hour  arrived — and  the  whole 
party  sat  down  at  a  small  table. 


55 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


XVI 

Who  does  not  know  what  a  German  dinner  is 
like?  Watery  soup,  with  knobby  dumpHngs 
and  cinnamon,  boiled  beef,  dry  as  cork,  over- 
grown with  white  fat,  slimy  potatoes,  puffy 
beets  and  chewed  horseradish,  eel  that  has  turned 
blue,  capers  and  vinegar,  a  roast  with  preserves, 
and  the  inevitable  Mehlspeise^ — something  in 
the  nature  of  a  pudding,  with  a  sourish  red 
sauce;  and  on  top  of  all,  wine  and  beer — capital! 
To  just  that  sort  of  a  dinner  did  the  restaurant- 
keeper  of  Soden  treat  his  patrons.  However, 
the  dinner  itself  passed  off  successfully.  No 
particular  animation  was  visible,  it  is  true;  it 
did  not  make  its  appearance  even  when  Herr 
Kliiber  proposed  a  toast  to  "  that  which  we 
love!  "  {Was  wir  lieben!)  Everything  was  very 
decorous  and  proper.  After  dinner,  coffee  was 
served, — weak,  rusty -red  regular  German  coffee. 
Herr  Kliiber,  like  a  genuine  cavaher,  asked 
Gemma's  permission  to  light  his  cigar.  .  .  .  But 
at  this  point  something  happened  which  was 
unforeseen,  and  really  disagreeable— and  even 
improper! 

Several  officers  of  the  Mayence  garrison  had 
placed  themselves  at  one  of  the  neighbouring 
tables.  From  their  glances  and  whisperings,  it 
was  easy  to  divine  that  Gemma's  beauty  had 

56 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

made  an  impression  on  them;  one  of  them,  who 
had  probably  been  in  Frankfurt  before,  kept 
staring  at  her,  as  at  a  face  well  known  to  him. 
It  was  obvious  that  he  knew  who  she  was.  He 
suddenly  rose  to  his  feet,  and  glass  in  hand,— the 
officers  had  been  drinking  heavily,  and  the  whole 
table-cloth  in  front  of  them  was  covered  with 
bottles, — he  stepped  up  to  the  table  at  which  sat 
Gemma.  He  was  a  very  young,  fair-haired 
man,  with  sufficiently  agreeable  and  even  sym- 
pathetic features;  but  the  wine  he  had  drunk 
had  distorted  them;  his  cheeks  were  twitching, 
his  swollen  eyes  wandered  and  assumed  an  auda- 
cious expression.  At  first  his  comrades  tried 
to  hold  him  back,  but  afterward  they  let  him  go 
his  way,  as  though  they  were  curious  to  see  what 
would  come  of  it. 

Reeling  slightly  on  his  legs,  the  officer  halted 
in  front  of  Gemma,  and  in  a  violently  shrill 
voice,  in  which,  against  his  will,  conffict  with 
himself  was  expressed,  he  articulated:  "  I  drink 
to  the  health  of  the  most  beautiful  coffee-house 
girl  in  the  whole  world" — (he  "drained"  the 
glass  at  one  swallow)  — "  and,  as  my  reward,  I 
take  this  flower,  wrested  from  her  divine  little 
fingers! "  He  picked  up  from  the  table  a  rose, 
which  lay  in  front  of  Gemma's  plate.  At  first 
she  was  amazed,  frightened,  and  turned  terribly 
pale  ....  then  her  terror  was  replaced  by  in- 
dignation.   She  suddenly  flushed  aU  over,  to  her 

57 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

very  hair,— and  her  eyes,  fixed  straight  on  the  of- 
fender, both  darkened  and  blazed  up  simultane- 
ously—became filled  with  gloom  and  lighted  up 
with  the  fire  of  uncontrollable  wrath.  This  gaze 
must  have  abashed  the  officer ;  he  muttered  some- 
thing unintelligible,  bowed— and  went  back  to 
his  friends.  They  greeted  him  with  laughter, 
and  a  faint  clapping  of  hands. 

Herr  Kliiber  suddenly  rose  from  his  chair, 
and  drawing  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  and 
putting  on  his  hat,  he  said,  with  dignity,  but 
not  too  loudly:  "  This  is  unheard  of!  Unheard- 
of  insolence !  "  ("  Unerhort!  Unerhorte  Frech- 
Jieitl")  and  immediately  calling  the  waiter  to 
him,  in  a  stern  voice,  he  demanded  his  bill  in- 
stantly ....  and  that  was  not  all:  he  ordered 
the  carriage  to  be  harnessed,  adding  that  re- 
spectable people  could  not  come  to  the  house, 
as  they  were  subjected  to  insults!  At  these 
words.  Gemma,  who  had  continued  to  sit  still  in 
her  place,  without  moving, — her  bosom  heaved 
sharply  and  high,— Gemma  turned  her  eyes  on 
Herr  Kliiber  .  .  .  and  regarded  him  steadily, 
and  with  the  same  gaze  which  she  had  used  for 
the  officer.  Emile  was  simply  quivering  with 
fury. 

"Rise,  mein  Frdulein" — said  Herr  Kliiber, 
still  with  the  same  severity;  "it  is  not  proper 
for  you  to  remain  here.  We  will  post  ourselves 
yonder  in  the  restaurant." 

58 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Gemma  rose  in  silence.  He  oiFered  her  his 
arm  in  a  crook,  she  gave  him  hers — and  he 
wended  his  way  to  the  restaurant  with  a  majestic 
stride,  which,  equally  with  his  bearing,  became 
more  majestic  and  arrogant  in  proportion  as  he 
got  further  away  from  the  spot  where  the  dinner 
had  taken  place.    Poor  Emile  slunk  after  them. 

But  while  Herr  Kliiber  was  settling  the  bill 
with  the  waiter,  to  whom,  by  way  of  punish- 
ment, he  gave  not  a  single  kreutzer  of  tip,  Sanin, 
with  swift  strides,  approached  the  table  at  which 
the  officers  sat, — and,  addressing  Gemma's  in- 
sulter  (at  the  moment  the  latter  was  allowing 
each  of  his  comrades  in  turn  to  smell  of  her  rose) 
— he  articulated  distinctly,  in  French: — "What 
you  have  just  done,  my  dear  sir,  is  unworthy  of 
an  honourable  man,  unworthy  of  the  uniform 
you  wear, — and  I  have  come  to  tell  you  that 
you  are  an  ill-bred  bully!" — The  young  man 
sprang  to  his  feet,  but  another  officer,  an  older 
man,  restrained  him  by  a  motion  of  his  hand, 
made  him  sit  down,— and,  turning  to  Sanin, 
asked  him,  also  in  French: — "  Was  he  a  relative, 
a  brother,  or  the  betrothed  of  that  young  girl?  " 

"  I  am  an  entire  stranger  to  her," — exclaimed 
Sanin,—"  I  am  a  Russian,— but  I  cannot  look 
on,  with  indifference,  at  such  a  piece  of  inso- 
lence. However,  here  is  my  card,  with  my  ad- 
dress; the  officer  can  look  me  up." 

As  he  uttered  these  words,  Sanin  flung  on  the 

59 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

table  his  visiting-card,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
quickly  seized  Gemma's  rose,  which  one  of  the 
officers  seated  at  the  table  had  dropped  on  his 
plate.  The  young  man  again  tried  to  spring 
from  his  chair,  but  again  his  comrade  held  him 
back,  saying:  "  Donhof ,  be  quiet!"  {'' Donhof, 
sei  still!")  Then  he  rose  himself,— and,  touch- 
ing the  visor  of  his  cap  with  his  hand,  he  said 
to  Sanin,  not  without  a  trace  of  respect  in  his 
manner  and  voice,  that  the  next  morning  one  of 
the  officers  of  the  regiment  would  have  the  hon- 
our to  present  himself  to  him  at  his  lodgings. 
Sanin  replied  by  a  curt  nod— and  hastily  re- 
joined his  friends. 

Herr  Kluber  feigned  not  to  notice  in  the  least 
either  Sanin's  absence,  or  his  explanation  with 
the  officers ;  he  urged  to  haste  the  coachman,  who 
was  harnessing  the  horses,  and  flew  into  a  violent 
rage  at  his  slowness.  Neither  did  Gemma  say 
anything  to  Sanin,  she  did  not  even  glance  at 
him;  but  her  lowering  brows,  her  lips,  which 
were  pale  and  compressed,  her  very  immobility 
made  it  plain  that  her  mind  was  not  at  ease. 
Emile  alone  wanted  to  talk  with  Sanin,  wanted 
to  question  him.  He  had  seen  Sanin  go  up  to 
the  officers,  he  had  seen  him  give  them  something 
white, — a  scrap  of  paper,  a  note,  a  card.  .  .  . 
The  poor  lad's  heart  beat  violently,  he  was  ready 
to  fling  himself  on  Sanin's  neck,  ready  to  weep, 

60 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

or  to  go  on  the  instant  with  him  to  pulverise  all 
those  disgusting  officers!  But  he  restrained 
himself,  and  contented  himself  with  watching 
attentively  every  movement  of  his  noble  Rus- 
sian friend. 

At  last  the  coachman  got  the  horses  put  to; 
the  whole  party  took  their  seats  in  the  carriage. 
Emile  climbed  up  after  Tartaglia  on  the  box; 
he  felt  more  at  his  ease  there,  and,  moreover, 
Kliiber,  whom  he  could  not  look  at  with  equa- 
nimity, would  not  be  before  his  eyes. 

All  the  way  home,  Herr  Kliiber  harangued  .  .  . 
and  harangued  alone;  no  one,  no  one  answered 
him,  and  no  one  agreed  with  him.  He  laid  par- 
ticular stress  on  the  fact  that  they  had  made  a 
mistake  not  to  obey  him  when  he  had  proposed 
to  dine  in  the  enclosed  arbour.  Had  that  been 
done,  no  unpleasantness  would  have  arisen! 
Then  he  pronounced  several  harsh,  and  even 
liberal  judgments,  to  the  eiFect  that  the  govern- 
ment upheld  the  officers  in  an  unpardonable 
manner,  did  not  look  after  their  discipline,  and 
did  not  sufficiently  respect  the  civilian  element 
of  society— ('^'^^as  bilrgerliche  Element  in  der 
Sodetdtl") — and  that  thence,  from  that  cause, 
arose  dissatisfaction,  from  which  to  revolution 
was  not  a  long  stride,  as  to  which  a  sad  example 
(here  he  sighed  feelingly,  but  sternly)  — a  sad 
example  had  been  furnished  by  France !    But  he 

61 


SPRING  FRJESHETS 

immediately  added  that,  personally,  he  revered 
the  authorities,  and  never  ....  never!  .  .  .  . 
would  become  a  revolutionist— although  he 
could  not  refrain  from  expressing  his  ...  . 
disapprobation  at  the  sight  of  such  profligacy! 
Then  he  added  a  few  more  general  remarks  as  to 
morality  and  immorality,  propriety  and  the 
sense  of  dignity. 

In  the  course  of  all  these  "  harangues " 
Gemma,  who  already,  in  the  stroll  which  had 
preceded  the  dinner,  had  seemed  to  be  not  en- 
tirely pleased  with  Herr  Kliiber — hence,  she  had 
held  herself  somewhat  aloof  from  Sanin,  and 
had  seemed  to  be  embarrassed  by  his  presence — 
Gemma  began,  plainly,  to  feel  ashamed  of  her 
betrothed!  Toward  the  end  of  the  drive  she 
positively  suffered,  and  although,  as  before,  she 
did  not  converse  with  Sanin,  yet  she  suddenly 
cast  an  imploring  glance  at  him.  .  .  .  He,  on 
his  part,  felt  much  more  pity  for  her  than  in- 
dignation at  Herr  Kliiber;  he  even  secretly,  half 
unconsciously,  rejoiced  at  all  that  had  happened 
in  the  course  of  the  day,  although  he  might  ex- 
pect a  challenge  to  a  duel  the  next  morning. 

This  painful  partie  de  plaisir  came  to  an  end 
at  last.  As  Sanin  helped  Gemma  out  of  the 
carriage  in  front  of  the  confectionery  shop,  he 
placed  the  rose,  which  he  had  recaptured,  in 
her  hand,  without  saying  a  word.  She  flushed 
all  over,  pressed  his  hand,  and  instantly  con- 

62 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

cealed  the  rose.  He  did  not  wish  to  enter  the 
house,  although  the  evening  was  only  just  be- 
ginning. She  herself  did  not  invite  him.  More- 
over, Pantaleone,  who  made  his  appearance  on 
the  steps,  announced  that  Frau  Lenore  was 
sleeping.  Emile  bade  Sanin  a  timid  farewell; 
he  seemed  to  be  afraid  of  him :  he  had  astonished 
him  so  much.  Kliiber  drove  Sanin  to  his  lodg- 
ings, and  took  leave  of  him  conceitedly.  The 
regularly  constituted  German,  despite  all  his 
self-confidence,  felt  awkward.  They  all  felt 
awkward. 

But,  in  Sanin's  case,  this  feeling— the  feeling 
of  awkwardness— was  speedily  dissipated.  It 
was  supplanted  by  an  ill- defined,  but  agreeable, 
even  exalted  mood.  He  paced  up  and  down  his 
chamber,  would  not  allow  himself  to  think  of 
anything,  whistled— and  was  very  well  satisfied 
with  himself. 

XVII 

"  I  SHALL  wait  for  the  officer  with  an  explanation 
until  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,"— he  reflected, 
on  the  following  morning,  as  he  completed  his 
toilet,  "and  then  he  may  hunt  me  up!"  But 
Germans  are  early  risers.  Before  the  clock  strack 
nine,  a  waiter  announced  to  Sanin  that  Mr.  Sec- 
ond Lieutenant  {der  Herr  Seconde  Lieutenant) 
von  Richter  desired  to  see  him.     Sanin  briskly 

63 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

donned  his  coat,  and  said,  "  Show  him  in." 
Contrary  to  Sanin's  expectation,  Herr  Richter 
proved  to  be  a  very  young  man,  aknost  a  boy. 
He  endeavoured  to  impart  an  expression  of  im- 
portance to  his  beardless  face,— but  in  this  he 
was  utterly  unsuccessful ;  he  was  not  able  to  con- 
ceal his  agitation— and,  as  he  seated  himself  on 
a  chair,  he  nearly  fell,  through  having  entangled 
himself  with  his  sword.  Halting  and  stammer- 
ing, he  informed  Sanin,  in  villainous  French, 
that  he  had  come  on  behalf  of  his  friend.  Baron 
von  Donhof ;  that  he  was  commissioned  to  de- 
mand from  Herr  von  Zanin  an  apology  for  the 
insulting  expressions  employed  by  him  on  the 
preceding  day;  and  that,  in  case  of  a  refusal  on 
the  part  of  Herr  von  Zanin,  Baron  von  Don- 
hof desired  satisfaction.  Sanin  replied  that  he 
had  no  intention  of  apologising,  and  was  ready 
to  give  satisfaction.  Then  Herr  von  Richter, 
still  stammering,  inquired  with  whom,  and  at 
what  hour,  and  in  what  place,  he  should  hold  the 
requisite  conference?  Sanin  answered  that  he 
might  come  to  him  a  couple  of  hours  hence,  and 
that  he,  Sanin,  would  endeavour  to  hunt  up  a 
second  before  that  time.  ("Whom  the  devil 
shall  I  get  for  a  second  ?  "  he  said  to  himself  the 
while.)  Herr  von  Richter  rose,  and  began  to 
bow  himself  out  ....  but  halted  on  the  thresh- 
old, as  though  he  felt  the  pangs  of  conscience,— 
and,   turning   to    Sanin,   he   observed   that   his 

64 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

friend,  Baron  von  Donhof,  did  not  conceal 
from  himself  ....  a  certain  degree  ....  of 
blame  on  his  own  side  for  what  had  taken  place 
on  the  previous  day— and,  therefore,  would  be 
content  with  a  light  apology— "^"^^^^  eooghizes 
lecher es."  To  this  Sanin  replied  that  he  had 
no  intention  of  making  any  sort  of  apology 
whatsoever,  either  heavy  or  light,  as  he  did 
not  consider  himself  in  the  wrong. — "In 
that  case,"— returned  Herr  von  Richter,  blush- 
ing still  more  furiously: — "you  must  ex- 
change friendly  shots— fZ^^  goups  de  pisdolet  a 
Vaimaple! " 

"  I  utterly  fail  to  comprehend  that,"— re- 
marked Sanin.  "  Do  you  mean  that  we  are  to 
fire  into  the  air?  " 

"  Oh,  not  that,  not  so,"— lisped  the  sub-lieu- 
tenant, definitively  overwhelmed  with  confusion, 
— "  but  I— I  assume  that,  as  the  affair  is  be- 
tween two  gentlemen  of  breeding  ....  I  will 
discuss  it  with  your  second,"  .  .  he  interrupted 
himself,  and  withdrew. 

Sanin  dropped  on  a  chair,  as  soon  as  the  man 
had  left  the  room,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  floor. 
—"What  's  the  meaning  of  this?  How  comes 
it  that  life  has  suddenly  taken  such  a  turn?  All 
the  past,  all  the  future  has  suddenly  retreated 
into  the  background,  vanished— and  nothing  re- 
mains, save  the  fact  that  I  am  going  to  fight  in 
Frankfurt  with  some  one  about  something."    He 

65 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

recalled  a  crazy  aunt  of  his,  who  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  dancing  and  singing : 

"  Sub-lieutenant ! 
My  darling! 
My  little  love! 
Dance  a  while  with  me,  my  dear !  "  ^ 

And  he  burst  out  laughing  and  sang,  like  her: 
"  Sub-lieutenant!  dance  a  while  with  me,  my 
dear!"— "But  I  must  act,  I  must  not  lose 
time!"— he  exclaimed  aloud— jumped  up,  and 
beheld  before  him  Pantaleone,  with  a  note  in  his 
hand. 

"  I  knocked  several  times,  but  you  did  not  an- 
swer. I  thought  you  were  not  at  home," — said 
the  old  man,  and  handed  him  the  note.—"  From 
Signorina  Gemma." 

Sanin  took  the  note,— as  the  saying  goes,  me- 
chanically,—broke  the  seal,  and  read  it.  Gemma 
wrote  to  him  that  she  was  very  uneasy,  because 
of  the  affair  which  was  known  to  him,  and 
wished  to  see  him  immediately. 

"  The  signorina  is  uneasy,"— began  Panta- 
leone, who  was,  evidently,  acquainted  with  the 
contents  of  the  note;— "she  ordered  me  to  see 
what  you  were  doing,  and  bring  you  to  her." 

Sanin  cast  a  glance  at  the  old  Italian— and 

1  Literally,  "dear  little  cucumber  ":-"  dear  little  dove."  In  Rus- 
sian the  rhyme  is  characteristic:  "  Podporutchik!  Moi  ogurtchikl 
Moi  amiirtchik!     Proplyashf  co  ranoi  golubtchik!"— Translator. 

66 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

became  pensive.  A  sudden  idea  had  flashed 
through  his  brain.  At  the  first  moment,  it 
seemed  to  him  strange  to  the  verge  of  impos- 
sibiKty.  .  .  . 

"  Nevertheless  ....  why  not?  "—he  asked 
himself. 

"  Signor  Pantaleone!" — he  said  aloud. 

The  old  man  started,  thrust  his  chin  into  his 
neckcloth,  and  riveted  his  eyes  on  Sanin. 

"You  know,"— pursued  Sanin,— "what  took 
place  yesterday? " 

Pantaleone  mowed  with  his  lips,  and  nodded 
his  huge  head. — "I  do." 

(Emile  had  told  him  all  as  soon  as  he  re- 
turned. ) 

"Ah,  you  know!— Well,  then,  see  here.  An 
officer  has  just  left  me.  That  bully  challenges 
me  to  a  duel. — I  have  accepted  his  challenge. — 
But  I  have  no  second.    Will  you  be  my  second?  " 

Pantaleone  shuddered,  and  elevated  his  eye- 
brows to  such  a  degree  that  they  disappeared 
beneath  his  overhanging  hair. 

"  Must  you  inevitably  fight? " — he  said  at 
last,  in  Italian.  Up  to  that  moment  he  had  been 
expressing  himself  in  French. 

"  Inevitably.  I  cannot  act  otherwise — it 
would  mean  disgracing  myself  forever." 

"  H'm.  —  If  I  do  not  consent  to  act  as  your 
second — then  you  will  hunt  up  some  one  else?  " 

"  Yes  ....  without  fail." 

67 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Pantaleone  cast  down  his  eyes. — "But  permit 
me  to  ask  you,  Signor  de  Zamiini,  will  not  your 
duel  cast  a  sort  of  unfavourable  shadow  upon  the 
reputation  of  a  certain  person?" 

"  I  think  not;  but,  at  any  rate,— there  is  no- 
thing else  to  be  done." 

"H'm!" — Pantaleone  retired  altogether  into 
his  neckcloth. — "Well,  and  that  ferrofluchto 
Kluberio— what  about  him?  "—he  suddenly  ex- 
claimed, and  threw  up  his  face. 

"About  him?    Nothing." 

"^C/i^/^^^— Pantaleone  shrugged  his  shoulders 
scornfully.  —  "  In  any  case,  I  must  thank  you," 
— he  said,  at  last,  in  an  uncertain  voice, — "  for 
having  recognised  me,  in  my  present  humble  sta- 
tion, for  a  well-bred  man — un  galanf  uomo! — 
By  so  doing,  you  have  proved  that  you  yourself 
are  a  galanf  uomo.  But  I  must  think  over  your 
proposal." 

"  There  is  no  time  for  that,  my  dear  Signor 
Ci  .  .  .  .  Cippa  .  .  .  ." 

" — tola,"  prompted  the  old  man. — "I  ask  one 
hour  in  all  for  reflection. — The  daughter  of  my 
benefactors  is  implicated  in  the  matter.  .  .  . 
And,  therefore,  I  must— I  am  bound  to  reflect  I ! 
.  .  .  An  hour— three  quarters  of  an  hour  hence, 
you  shall  know  my  decision." 

"Good!    I  will  wait." 

^  An  untranslatable  Italian  expression,  corresponding  to 
"Well !  "—Authoh's  Note. 

68 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  And  now  .  .  .  what  answer  am  I  to  give  to 
Signorina  Gemma?" 

Sanin  took  a  sheet  of  paper,  wrote  on  it:  "  Be 
not  anxious,  my  dear  friend;  I  will  go  to  you 
three  hours  hence,— and  everything  will  be  ex- 
plained. I  thank  you  heartily  for  your  sym- 
pathy,"—and  handed  the  sheet  of  paper  to  Pan- 
taleone. 

The  latter  carefully  placed  it  in  his  side-pocket 
— and  repeating  once  more:  "  An  hour  hence!  " 
he  started  toward  the  door;  but  turned  back  ab- 
ruptly, ran  up  to  Sanin,  seized  his  hand,— and 
pressing  it  to  his  shirt-frill,  and  raising  his  eyes 
heavenward,  exclaimed:  "Noble  youth!  Great 
heart!  {Nobile  giovanotto!  Gran  cuore!) — 
permit  a  weak  old  man  {a  un  vecchiotto!)  to 
shake  your  valorous  right  hand!  {la  vostra  va- 
lorosa  destra!)''  Then  he  sprang  back  a  little 
way,  flourished  both  hands  in  the  air,  and  with- 
drew. 

Sanin  gazed  after  him  .  .  .  took  up  a  news- 
paper, and  began  to  read.  But  in  vain  did  his 
eyes  run  over  the  lines :  he  understood  nothing. 

XVIII 

An  hour  later,  the  waiter  again  entered  Sanin's 
room,  and  handed  him  an  old,  soiled  visiting- 
card,  on  which  stood  the  following  words:  "  Pan- 
taleone  Cippatola  of  Varese,  Singer  to  the  Court 

69 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

(Cantante  di  Camera)  of  his  Royal  Highness  the 
Duke  of  Modena," — and  following  the  waiter, 
Pantaleone  presented  himself  in  person.  He 
had  re-dressed  himself  from  head  to  foot.  He 
wore  a  rusty  black  dress-suit,  and  a  white  pique 
waistcoat,  over  which,  in  curves,  meandered  a 
pinchbeck  chain;  a  heavy  carnelian  seal  hung 
low  on  the  tight  black  trousers  with  flaps.  In 
his  right  hand  he  held  a  black  hat  of  rabbit's 
down;  in  the  left,  two  thick  chamois-leather 
gloves;  he  had  tied  his  neckcloth  still  more 
broadly  and  higher  up  than  usual — and  in 
the  ruffle  of  his  shirt  he  had  stuck  a  pin  with  a 
stone  called  a  "cat's-eye"  {oeil  de  chat).  On 
the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  shone  a  ring, 
representing  two  clasped  hands  with  a  flaming 
heart  between  them.  The  old  man's  whole  per- 
son emitted  an  odour  of  clothing  long  packed 
away, — an  odour  of  camphor  and  musk;  the 
anxious  pomposity  of  his  carriage  would  have 
struck  the  most  indifferent  spectator.  Sanin 
rose  to  greet  him. 

"  I  am  your  second,"— said  Pantaleone,  in 
French— bowing  with  a  forward  inclination  of 
his  whole  body,  and  his  toes  pointed  outward, 
as  dancers  point  them.  "  I  have  come  for  in- 
structions. Do  you  wish  to  fight  without  quar- 
ter?" 

"  But  why  should  it  be  without  quarter,  my 
dear  Mr.  Cippatola?     Not  for  anything  in  the 

70 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

world  will  I  retract  my  words  of  yesterday — 
but  I  am  not  bloodthirsty!  ....  But,  see  here, 
wait  a  bit,  my  adversary's  second  will  be  here  di- 
rectly. I  will  retire  into  the  neighbouring  room, 
and  you  can  come  to  an  agreement  with  him. 
Believe  me,  I  shall  never  forget  your  service, 
and  I  thank  you  with  all  my  soul." 

"Honour  before  everything!  "—replied  Pan- 
taleone,  and  dropped  into  a  chair,  without  wait- 
ing for  Sanin  to  invite  him  to  be  seated.  "  If 
that  ferrofluchto  spiccebubbio" — he  remarked, 
exchanging  the  French  tongue  for  Italian, — "if 
that  haberdasher  Kluberio  was  unable  to  under- 
stand his  plain  obligation,  or  was  afraid, — so 
much  the  worse  for  him!  .  .  .  He  's  a  farthing 
soul — and  basta!  ....  But  as  for  the  condi- 
tions of  the  duel— I  am  your  second,  and  your 
interests  are  sacred  for  me !  !  .  .  .  When  I  lived 
in  Padua,  a  regiment  of  white  dragoons  was  sta- 
tioned there— and  I  was  very  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  many  of  the  officers!  ...  I  am 
familiar  with  their  whole  code.  Well,  and  I  fre- 
quently conversed  with  your  Principe  Tarbusski 
on  those  questions.  .  .  Is  that  second  coming 
soon? " 

"  I  am  expecting  him  every  moment— and 
yonder  he  comes,"— added  Sanin,  glancing  into 
the  street. 

Pantaleone  rose,  looked  at  his  watch,  adjusted 
his  top-knot,  and  hastily  stuffed  into  his  shoe  a 

71 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

tape  which  was  danghng  from  beneath  his  trou- 
ser-leg. The  j^oung  sub-Heutenant  entered,  as 
flushed  and  embarrassed  as  ever. 

Sanin  introduced  the  seconds  to  each  other: 
"M-r  Richter,  sous-Heutenant!— M-r  Zippatola, 
artiste!" — The  Heutenant  was  somewhat  sur- 
prised at  the  aspect  of  the  old  man.  .  .  .  Oh, 
what  would  he  have  said,  had  any  one  whispered 
to  him,  at  that  moment,  that  the  "  artist "  intro- 
duced to  him  also  occupied  himself  with  the  art 
of  cookery!  But  Pantaleone  assumed  an  air,  as 
though  taking  part  in  the  arrangement  of  duels 
were  the  most  commonplace  sort  of  event  for 
him:  probably  the  memories  of  his  theatrical 
career  helped  him  at  that  moment— and  he 
played  the  part  of  a  second,  precise^  like  a  role. 
Both  he  and  the  lieutenant  remained  silent  for  a 
while. 

"Well?  Let  us  proceed  to  business!"— Pan- 
taleone was  the  first  to  speak,  as  he  toyed  with 
his  carnelian  seal. 

"  Let  us  proceed,"— replied  the  lieutenant,— 
"but  .  .  .  the  presence  of  one  of  the  comba- 
xants  .  .  •  • 

"  I  will  leave  you  at  once,  gentlemen," — ex- 
claimed Sanin,  and,  bowing,  he  went  into  the 
bedroom,  and  shut  the  door  after  him. 

He  flung  himself  on  the  bed— and  set  to  think- 
ing about  Gemma  .  .  .  but  the  conversation  of 
the  seconds  reached  his  ear  through  the  closed 

72 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

door.  It  was  proceeding  in  the  French  lan- 
guage; both  were  murdering  it  mercilessly,  each 
in  his  own  way.  Pantaleone  again  alluded  to 
the  dragoons  at  Padua,  to  Principe  Tarbusski, 
— the  lieutenant  mentioned  " exghizes  Ucheres" 
and  ''  goups  a  Vaimaple/^  But  the  old  man 
would  not  hear  to  any  eccghizes!  To  the  horror 
of  Sanin,  he  suddenly  began  to  talk  to  his  inter- 
locutor about  a  certain  young,  innocent  girl, 
whose  little  finger  was  worth  more  than  all  the 
officers  in  the  world  ....  {'' oune  zeune  dami- 
gella  innoucenta,  qw*a  sola  dans  soun  peti  doa 
vale  piu  que  toutt  le  zoufpssie  del  mondo!  ^') 
and  several  times  repeated  with  fervour:  "It  is 
a  shame!  it  is  a  shame!  {E  ouna  onta,  ouna 
onta!) "  The  lieutenant  did  not  replj^  to  him  at 
first;  but,  after  a  while,  a  wrathful  tremor  be- 
came audible  in  the  young  man's  voice,  and  he 
remarked  that  he  had  not  come  for  the  purpose 
of  listening  to  moral  sentiments.  .  .  . 

"At  your  age  it  is  always  useful  to  listen  to 
righteous  remarks!" — cried  Pantaleone. 

The  altercation  between  the  two  seconds  grew 
stormy  at  several  points;  it  lasted  for  more  than 
an  hour,  and  wound  up,  at  last,  with  the  follow- 
ing conditions :  "  Baron  von  Donhof  and  Mr. 
da  Sanin  were  to  fight  a  duel,  with  pistols,  on 
the  following  day,  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, in  the  small  forest  near  Hanau,  at  a  distance 
of  twenty  paces;  each  was  to  have  the  right  to 

73 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

fire  two  shots,  on  a  signal  given  by  the  seconds. 
The  pistols  to  be  without  hair-trigger,  and  not 
rifled."  Herr  von  Richter  withdrew,  and  Pan- 
taleone  triumphantly  threw  open  the  bedroom 
door,  and  communicating  the  result  of  their 
conference,  again  exclaimed:  ''Bravo  Russe! 
Bravo  giovanotto!    Thou  wilt  be  the  victor! " 

A  few  minutes  later,  they  both  set  out  for  the 
RoselU  confectionery  shop.  Sanin  exacted  from 
Pantaleone  a  preliminary  promise  to  preserve 
the  strictest  secrecy  regarding  the  duel.  In  re- 
ply, the  old  man  merely  pointed  his  finger  up- 
ward, and  narrowing  his  eyes,  he  whispered 
twice  in  succession:  ''Segredezza!  (Secrecy!)" 
He  had  grown  visibly  younger,  and  even 
stepped  out  more  freely.  All  these  unusual, 
though  agreeable  events  had  vividly  carried  him 
back  to  the  epoch  when  he  himself  had  accepted 
and  given  challenges — on  the  stage,  it  is  true. 
Barytones,  as  all  the  world  is  aware,  strut  a  great 
deal  in  their  roles. 

XIX 

Emile  ran  out  to  meet  Sanin— he  had  been 
watching  for  his  arrival  for  more  than  an  hour 
— and  hastily  whispered  in  his  ear  that  his  mo- 
ther knew  nothing  about  the  unpleasantness  of 
the  day  before,  and  it  was  not  proper  even  to 
give  her  a  hint  of  it,  and  that  he  would  be  sent 

74 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

again  to  the  shop!  !  .  .  .  .  but  that  he  would 
not  go,  but  would  hide  somewhere  or  other! — 
Having  imparted  all  this,  in  the  course  of  a  few 
seconds,  he  suddenly  fell  upon  Sanin's  neck, 
kissed  him  impulsively,  and  ran  off  down  the 
street.  In  the  confectionery  shop  Gemma 
greeted  Sanin;  she  tried  to  say  something — and 
could  not.  Her  lips  quivered  slightly,  and  her 
eyes  were  narrowed  and  glanced  off  in  all  direc- 
tions. He  hastened  to  soothe  her  with  the  assur- 
ance that  the  whole  affair  had  ended  ...  in 
mere  nonsense. 

"  Has  no  one  been  to  see  you  to-day?  " — she 
asked. 

"  One  person  has  been  to  see  me — we  had  an 
explanation — and  we  .  .  .  we  arrived  at  the 
most  satisfactory  result." 

Gemma  went  back  again  behind  the  counter. 

"  She  did  not  believe  me," — he  thought  .... 
but  he  went  his  way  into  the  next  room,  and 
there  found  Frau  Lenore. 

Her  headache  had  passed  off,  but  she  was  still 
in  a  melancholy  mood.  She  smiled  cordially  at 
him,  but,  at  the  same  time,  she  warned  him 
that  he  would  find  it  tiresome  with  her  that 
day,  as  she  was  not  in  a  condition  to  entertain 
him. 

"  What  ails  j'^ou,  Frau  Lenore?  Can  it  be 
that  you  have  been  weeping?  " 

"  Ssssssssh  .  .  .  ."  she  whispered,  indicating 

75 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

with  a  movement  of  her  head  the  room  where  her 
daughter  was.     "Don't  say  that  ....  aloud.'* 
"But  what  have  you  been  crying  about? " 
"Akh,  Monsieur  Sanin,  I  don't  know  myself 
what  it  was  about!" 

"  Has  any  one  hurt  your  feelings? " 
"Oh,  no!  ...  I  felt  greatly  bored  all  of  a 
sudden.  I  remembered  Giovan'  Battista  .... 
his  youth.  .  .  .  Then  that  all  went  away  again 
speedily.  I  am  getting  old,  my  friend.  I  seem 
to  be  just  the  same  as  ever  myself  ....  but 
old  age— there  it  is  .  .  .  there  it  is!  " — Tears 
made  their  appearance  in  Frau  Lenore's  eyes. — 
"  I  see  that  you  look  at  me  in  amazement.  .  .  . 
But  you  will  grow  old  also,  my  friend,  and  you 
will  find  out  how  bitter  it  is! " 

Sanin  set  to  work  to  comfort  her,  reminding  her 
of  her  children,  with  whom  her  own  youth  had 
come  to  life  again ;  he  even  attempted  to  laugh  at 
her,  asserting  that  she  was  fishing  for  compli- 
ments ....  but  she,  not  in  jest,  requested  him 
"to  stop,"  and  then,  for  the  first  time,  he  was 
able  to  convince  himself  that  that  sort  of  sadness, 
the  sadness  of  conscious  old  age,  cannot  in  any 
way  be  cheered  or  dissipated;  one  must  wait  for 
it  to  disperse  of  itself.  Pie  proposed  to  her  a 
game  of  tresette — and  he  could  not  have  hit  upon 
anything  better.  She  immediately  accepted— 
and  seemed  to  brighten  up. 

Sanin  played  with  her  until  dinner,  and  after 

76 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

dinner.  Pantaleone  also  took  an  interest  in  the 
game.  Never  had  his  crest  of  hair  fallen  so  low 
upon  his  brow,  never  had  his  chin  sunk  so  deeply 
into  his  neckcloth!  His  every  movement  exhaled 
such  concentrated  dignity  that  the  sight  of  him 
involuntarily  prompted  the  thought :  What  secret 
is  that  man  keeping  with  so  much  firmness? 

^ut~ segredezza!  segredezza! 

Throughout  the  whole  course  of  that  day,  he 
endeavoured,  in  every  possible  way,  to  show  Sa- 
nin  the  most  profound  respect;  at  table,  passing 
over  the  ladies,  solemnly  and  with  decision,  he 
offered  the  viands  first  to  Sanin ;  during  the  game 
at  cards,  he  surrendered  his  draw  to  him,  did  not 
venture  to  beat  him;  he  declared,  without  any 
rhyme  or  reason,  that  Russians  are  the  most  mag- 
nanimous, brave,  and  resolute  nation  in  the 
world ! 

"  Akh,  thou  old  play-actor!  "—thought  Sanin 
to  himself. 

And  he  was  not  so  much  surprised  at  Signora 
Roselli's  unexpected  frame  of  mind,  as  at  the 
way  in  which  her  daughter  treated  him.  It  was 
not  that  she  shunned  him  ....  on  the  contrary, 
she  kept  constantly  seating  herself  at  a  short  dis- 
tance from  him,  listening  to  his  remarks,  gazing 
at  him;  but  she  positively  declined  to  enter  into 
conversation  with  him,  and  just  as  soon  as  he  ad- 
dressed her,  she  rose  quietly  from  her  seat,  and 
quietly  withdrew  for  a  few  moments.    Then  she 

77 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

made  her  appearance  again,  and  again  seated  her- 
self somewhere  in  a  corner — and  sat  there  motion- 
less, as  though  meditating  and  bewildered— bewil- 
dered, most  of  all.  Frau  Lenore  herself  noticed, 
at  last,  the  unwontedness  of  her  behaviour,  and 
asked  her  a  couple  of  times  what  was  the  matter 
with  her. 

"  Nothing,"— replied  Gemma;  "thou  knowest 
that  I  am  like  this  at  times." 

"  That  is  true,"— assented  her  mother. 

Thus  passed  the  whole  of  that  long  day,  in  a 
way  that  was  neither  animated  nor  languid, — nei- 
ther cheerful  nor  tiresome.  Had  Gemma  borne 
herself  otherwise,  Sanin  might— who  knows? — 
have  been  unable  to  resist  the  temptation  to  strut 
a  little,  or  might  have  yielded  to  the  feeling  of 
sadness  in  face  of  a  parting  which  might  prove 
eternal.  .  .  .  But,  as  he  never  succeeded,  even 
once,  in  speaking  to  Gemma,  he  was  obliged 
to  content  himself  with  striking  minor  chords  on 
the  piano  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  even- 
ing coffee  was  served. 

Emile  came  home  late,  and  with  the  object  of 
avoiding  interrogations  on  the  subject  of  Herr 
Kliiber,  he  retired  very  soon.  Sanin's  turn  to 
withdraw  arrived. 

He  began  to  take  leave  of  Gemma.  For  some 
reason,  Lensky's  parting  from  Olga,  in  "  Onye- 
gin,"^   recurred  to  his  mind.     He  pressed  her 

*  Piishkin's  poem  "  Evg6ny  Ony6gin."— Translator. 

78 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

hand  closely— and  tried  to  look  into  her  face — 
but  she  turned  away  slightly  and  freed  her 
fingers. 

XX 

The  sky  was  studded  with  stars  when  he  emerged 
on  the  steps.  And  how  many  of  those  stars  were 
sown  there,  big,  little,  yellow,  red,  blue,  white! 
They  were  all  fairly  glowing  and  swarming,  vy^- 
ing  with  one  another  in  darting  their  rays.  There 
was  no  moon  in  the  sky,  but  even  without  it  every 
object  was  distinctly  visible  in  the  half-light, 
shadeless  gloom.  Sanin  walked  down  the  street, 
to  the  very  end.  .  .  He  did  not  wish  to  return 
home  at  once ;  he  felt  the  need  of  roaming  about 
in  the  fresh  air.  He  turned  back — and  before 
he  had  got  opposite  the  house  in  which  the  Roselli 
confectionery  shop  was  located,  one  of  the  win- 
dows which  gave  on  the  street  suddenly  rattled 
and  opened — in  its  black  square  (there  was  no 
light  in  the  room)  a  woman's  form  appeared — 
and  he  heard  himself  called  by  name. 

"Monsieur  Dimitri!" 

He  instantly  flew  to  the  window.  .  .  . 
Gemma ! 

She  leaned  her  elbows  on  the  sill,  and  bent 
forward. 

"Monsieur  Dimitri," — she  began,  in  a  cau- 
tious   voice, — "  all    day    long,    to-day,    I    have 

79 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

wanted  to  give  you  a  certain  thing  ....  but 
could  not  make  up  my  mind ;  and  seeing  you  un- 
expectedly again,  I  thought,  evidently,  so  it  is 
decreed  by  fate.  .  .  ." 

Gemma  involuntarily  paused  on  that  word. 
She  could  not  go  on;  something  remarkable  oc- 
curred at  that  moment. 

Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  the  deep  silence, 
athwart  the  perfectly  cloudless  sky  swept  such 
a  gust  of  wind,  that  the  very  earth  seemed  to 
tremble  under  foot,  the  delicate  starlight  quivered 
and  rippled,  the  very  air  rolled  up  into  a  ball. 
The  whirlwind,  not  cold,  but  warm,  even  sultry, 
beat  upon  the  trees,  upon  the  roof  of  the  house, 
on  its  walls,  on  the  street;  it  instantly  tore  the 
hat  from  Sanin's  head,  ruffled  and  whirled  about 
Gemma's  black  curls.  Sanin's  head  was  on  a 
level  with  the  window-sill ;  he  involuntarily  leaned 
against  it — and  Gemma,  with  both  hands, 
clutched  at  his  shoulder,  and  fell  with  her  breast 
against  his  head.  The  uproar,  ringing  and  rat- 
tling, lasted  for  about  a  minute.  .  .  .  Like  a 
flock  of  huge  birds,  the  joyously  swirling  whirl- 
wind dashed  past.  .  .  Profound  silence  reigned 
once  more. 

Sanin  raised  himself,  and  beheld  above  him 
such  a  wondrous,  frightened,  excited  face,  such 
huge,  magnificent  eyes — he  beheld  such  a  beauty, 
that  his  heart  sank  within  him,  he  pressed  his  lips 
to  a  slender  lock  of  hair,  which  fell  over  his 

80 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

breast— and  could  say  nothing  except:  "Oh, 
Gemma!" 

"What  was  that?  Lightning?  "—she  asked, 
rolling  her  eyes  widely  around,  and  not  removing 
her  bare  arms  from  his  shoulders. 

"  Gemma!  "—repeated  Sanin. 

She  sighed,  cast  a  glance  behind  her  into  the 
room, — and  with  a  swift  movement  drawing 
from  her  bodice  an  already  withered  rose,  she 
tossed  it  to  Sanin. 

"  I  wanted  to  give  you  this  flower.  .  .  ." 

He  recognised  the  rose  which  he  had  captured 
the  day  before.  .  .  . 

But  the  little  window  had  already  slammed  to, 
and  behind  the  dark  panes  nothing  was  visible, 
there  was  no  gleam  of  white.  .  .  . 

Sanin  reached  home  without  a  hat.  .  .  .  He 
did  not  even  notice  that  he  had  lost  it. 

XXI 

He  fell  asleep  just  before  dawn.  And  it  is  not 
surprising!  Under  the  shock  of  that  sudden 
summer  whirlwind,  he  had  instantaneously  felt — 
not  precisely  that  Gemma  was  a  beauty,  not  pre- 
cisely that  he  liked  her— he  had  known  that  be- 
fore ....  but  that  he  had  all  but  fallen  in  love 
with  her!  Love  had  descended  upon  him  as  in- 
stantaneously as  that  whirlwind.  And  there  was 
that  stupid  duel !    Melancholy  forebodings  began 

81 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

to  torture  him.  Well,  assuming  that  he  were  not 
killed.  .  .  What  could  come  of  his  love  for  that 
young  girl,  for  the  betrothed  bride  of  another 
man?  Assuming,  even,  that  that  "other"  was 
not  dangerous  to  him,  that  Gemma  herself  would 
fall  in  love  with  him  or  had  already  fallen  in  love 
with  him.  .  .  .  What  of  that?  What  then? 
Such  a  beauty!  .... 

He  paced  the  room,  seated  himself  at  the  table, 
took  a  sheet  of  paper,  scribbled  a  few  lines  on  it 
— and  immediately  crossed  them  out.  .  .  .  He 
recalled  to  mind  Gemma's  wonderful  figure,  in 
the  dark  window,  beneath  the  rays  of  the  stars, 
all  fluttering  in  the  warm  gale;  he  recalled  her 
marble  arms,  like  the  arms  of  Olympian  god- 
desses ;  he  felt  their  living  burden  upon  his  shoul- 
ders. .  .  .  Then  he  picked  up  the  rose  which  had 
been  tossed  to  him — it  seemed  to  him  that  its  half- 
withered  petals  exhaled  another  and  still  more 
delicate  perfume  than  the  ordinary  fragrance  of 
roses.  .  .  . 

"And  suppose  he  were  to  be  killed  or 
maimed? " 

He  did  not  lie  down  on  his  bed,  but  fell  asleep, 
fully  dressed,  on  the  couch.  Some  one  tapped 
him  on  the  shoulder.  .  .  . 

He  opened  his  eyes,  and  beheld  Pantaleone. 

"  He  sleeps  like  Alexander  of  Macedon  on  the 
eve  of  the  battle  of  Babylon!  "—exclaimed  the 
old  man. 

82 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  Why,  what  o'clock  is  it?  ^'— asked  Sanin. 

"A  quarter  to  seven;  it  is  a  two  hours'  drive 
to  Hanau,  and  we  should  be  the  first  on  the 
ground.  Russians  always  forestall  the  enemy! 
I  have  hired  the  best  carriage  in  Frankfurt!  " 

Sanin  began  to  wash  himself.— "And  where 
are  the  pistols  ?  " 

"  That  ferrofluclito  Tedesco  will  bring  the  pis- 
tols.   And  he  will  bring  a  doctor  also." 

Pantaleone  had,  evidently,  summoned  up  his 
courage,  as  on  the  preceding  day;  but  when  he 
seated  himself  in  the  carriage  with  Sanin,  when 
the  coachman  cracked  his  whip,  and  the  horses 
set  out  at  a  gallop,— a  sudden  change  came  over 
the  former  singer  and  friend  of  the  Padua  dra- 
goons. He  grew  confused,  and  even  turned  cow- 
ard. Something  seemed  to  fall  to  ruin  within 
him,  like  a  badly  constructed  wall. 

"  But  what  is  this  we  are  doing,  my  God,  San- 
tissima  Madonna!" — he  exclaimed,  in  an  unex- 
pectedly squeaking  voice,  and  clutched  his  hair. 
"  What  am  I  about,  old  fool,  madman,  frenetico 
that  I  am!" 

Sanin  was  amazed,  and  burst  out  laughing; 
and  lightly  embracing  Pantaleone's  waist,  he  re- 
minded him  of  the  French  maxim :  "  Le  vin  est 
tire—il  faut  le  hoire" 

"  Yes,  yes," — replied  the  old  man; — "  you  and 
I  are  to  drain  that  cup  together, — and,  neverthe- 
less, I  am  a  lunatic !    I  'm  a  lunatic !    Everything 

83 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

was  so  quiet,  so  nice  ....  and  all  of  a  sudden: 
ta-ta-ta,  tra-ta-ta! " 

"Just  like  the  tutti  in  an  orchestra,"— re- 
marked Sanin,  with  a  forced  smile.  "  But  you  are 
not  to  blame." 

"I  know  that  I  am  not!  I  should  think  not! 
Nevertheless,  this  is  ...  .  such  an  unbridled  pro- 
ceeding. Diavolo!  Dmt;oZo/''— repeated  Pan- 
taleone,  shaking  his  crest  of  hair  and  heaving  a 
sigh. 

But  still  the  carriage  rolled  on  and  on. 

It  was  a  delightful  morning.  The  streets  of 
Frankfurt,  which  were  barely  beginning  to  grow 
animated,  seemed  so  clean  and  comfortable;  the 
windows  of  the  houses  shone  with  glinting  re- 
flections, like  tinsel;  and  as  soon  as  the  carriage 
had  emerged  beyond  the  city  barrier  the  loud 
trills  of  the  larks  fairly  showered  down  from  on 
high,  from  the  sky  which  was  not  yet  bright. 
All  at  once,  at  a  turn  in  the  highway,  from  be- 
hind a  lofty  poplar-tree  a  familiar  form  made 
its  appearance,  advanced  a  few  paces,  and  came 
to  a  halt.  Sanin  scrutinised  it.  .  .  .  Great 
heavens !    Emile ! 

"  Does  he  know  anything  about  this?  "—he 
asked  Pantaleone. 

"  I  have  already  told  you  that  I  am  a  lunatic," 
—roared  the  poor  Italian,  in  despair,  almost  in 
a  yell.—"  That  unfortunate  lad  gave  me  no  peace 
all  night— and  at  last,  this  morning,  I  revealed 
everything  to  him  I  " 

84 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  There  's  segredezza  for  you ! "  thought  Sanin. 

The  carriage  came  even  with  Emile.  Sanin  or- 
dered the  coachman  to  stop  the  horses,  and  called 
the  "  unfortunate  lad "  to  him.  Emile  ap- 
proached with  irresolute  steps,  pale — pale  as  on 
the  day  of  his  fit.    He  could  hardly  keep  his  feet. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?" — Sanin  asked 
him,  sternly; — "  why  are  you  not  at  home?  " 

"  Permit  me  ....  permit  me  to  go  with  you," 
— faltered  Emile,  in  a  trembling  voice,  as  he 
clasped  his  hands.  His  teeth  chattered,  as  in  a 
fever.  "  I  will  not  get  in  your  way — only  take 
me!" 

"  If  you  feel  the  smallest  iota  of  attachment 
for  me," — said  Sanin, — "  you  will  instantly  re- 
turn home,  or  to  Herr  Kliiber's  shop,  and  you 
will  'lOt  say  a  single  word  to  any  one,  and  you  will 
await  my  return !  " 

"  Your  return,"— groaned  Emile— and  his 
voice  jangled  and  broke.    "  But  if  you  .  .  .  ." 

"  Emile!  "—Sanin  interrupted  him — and  in- 
dicated the  coachman  with  his  eyes, — "  come  to 
your  senses!  Emile,  please  go  home!  Listen  to 
me,  my  friend!  You  assert  that  you  love  me. 
Well,  then  I  entreat  you." 

He  offered  him  his  hand.  Emile  swayed  for- 
ward, gulped  down  a  sob,  pressed  it  to  his  lips — 
and  springing  out  of  the  road,  ran  back  to  Frank- 
furt, across  the  fields. 

"  That  's  a  noble  heart  also," — muttered  Pan- 
taleone;  but  Sanin  glared  grimly  at  him.  .  .  . 

85 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

The  old  man  cuddled  up  in  a  corner  of  the  car- 
riage. He  recognised  his  fault;  but,  in  addi- 
tion to  that,  with  every  passing  moment  he  grew 
more  and  more  amazed.  Could  it  be  that  he  had 
really  constituted  himself  a  second,  and  that  he 
had  got  horses,  and  made  all  the  arrangements, 
and  had  quitted  his  peaceful  habitation  at  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning?  Moreover,  his  legs  had 
begun  to  ache  and  throb. 

Sanin  considered  it  necessary  to  restore  his 
courage— and  hit  the  nail  on  the  head,  found  the 
proper  remark. 

"  What  has  become  of  your  former  spirit,  re- 
spected Signor  Cippatola?  Where  is  il  antico 
valor?  " 

Signor  Cippatola  straightened  himself  up, 
and  frowned. 

"  II  antico  valor?  " — he  proclaimed,  in  a  bass 
voice.  " Non  e  ancora  spento —  (It  is  not  yet  all 
exhausted) —27  antico  valor!!'' 

He  assumed  an  air  of  dignity,  began  to  talk 
about  his  career,  about  the  opera,  about  the  great 
tenor  Garcia— and  arrived  at  Hanau  a  valiant 
man.  When  you  come  to  think  of  it,  there  is 
nothing  in  the  world  more  potent — and  more 
impotent— than  words! 


86 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


XXII 

The  little  wood  in  which  the  conflict  was  to  take 
place  was  situated  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from 
Hanau.  Sanin  and  Pantaleone  were  the  first  to 
arrive,  as  the  latter  had  predicted;  they  ordered 
the  carriage  to  wait  at  the  edge  of  the  forest,  and 
plunged  into  the  shadow  of  the  tolerably  thick 
and  dense  trees.  They  were  obliged  to  wait  about 
an  hour. 

But  the  waiting  did  not  seem  particularly  op- 
pressive to  Sanin ;  he  walked  to  and  fro  along  the 
path,  lent  an  ear  to  the  singing  of  the  birds, 
watched  the  dragon-flies  flitting  past,  and,  like 
the  'iiajority  of  Russians  under  such  circum- 
stances, tried  not  to  think.  Once,  only,  did  pen- 
siveness  descend  upon  him.  He  chanced  upon 
a  young  linden-tree,  broken  ofl",  in  all  probabil- 
ity, by  the  squall  of  the  preceding  day.  It  was 
completely  dead  ....  all  the  leaves  on  it  were 
dead.  *' What  is  this?  An  omen?"  flashed 
through  his  mind.  But  he  immediately  began 
to  whistle,  jumped  over  that  linden-tree,  and 
strode  along  the  path.  Pantaleone  growled, 
cursed  the  Germans,  grunted,  scratched  now  his 
back,  now  his  knees.  He  even  yawned  with 
emotion,  which  imparted  a  very  droll  expression 
to  his  tiny,  puckered  face.  Sanin  almost  roared 
with  laughter  as  he  looked  at  him. 

87 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

At  last  the  rumble  of  wheels  on  the  smooth 
road  became  audible. — "  'T  is  they!  " — said  Pan- 
taleone,  growing  alert,  and  drew  himself  up, 
not  without  a  momentary,  nervous  shudder, 
which,  however,  he  hastened  to  mask  with  the  ex- 
clamation: "br-r-r-r!"  and  the  remark  that  the 
morning  was  decidedly  chilly.  An  abundance 
of  dew  flooded  the  grass  and  the  foliage,  but  the 
sultry  heat  had  already  made  its  way  even  into 
the  forest. 

Both  officers  speedily  made  their  appearance 
beneath  its  arches;  they  were  accompanied  by  a 
short,  plump  man  with  a  phlegmatic,  almost 
sleepy  face — the  military  doctor.  He  carried  in 
one  hand  an  earthen  vessel  of  water — on  the 
chance  of  its  being  required;  a  bag,  with  sur- 
gical instruments  and  bandages,  dangled  over 
his  left  shoulder.  It  was  evident  that  he  had 
grown  used,  to  an  extreme  degree,  to  such  excur- 
sions ;  they  constituted  one  of  his  sources  of  rev- 
enue; every  duel  brought  him  in  eight  ducats 
— four  from  each  of  the  belligerent  parties. 
Herr  von  Richter  carried  a  case  with  pistols; 
Herr  von  Donhof  was  twirling  in  his  hand — 
probably  for  the  "  chic  "  of  it —  a  small  riding- 
whip. 

"  Pantaleone  I  " — whispered  Sanin  to  the  old 
man, — "if  ....  if  I  am  killed— anything  may 
happen— get  a  paper  out  of  my  side-pocket,  with 
the  flower  that  is  wrapped  in  it, — and  give  the 

88 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

paper  to  Signorina  Gemma.    Do  you  hear?    Do 
you  promise?  " 

The  old  man  cast  a  dejected  glance  at  him— 
and  nodded  his  head  affirmatively.  .  .  .  But 
God  knows  whether  he  understood  what  Sanin 
asked  him. 

The  antagonists  and  seconds  exchanged  bows, 
as  is  customary;  the  doctor,  alone,  did  not  move 
so  much  as  an  eyebrow — and  seated  himself, 
with  a  yawn,  on  the  grass,  as  much  as  to  say: 
"  I  don't  feel  in  the  mood  for  displaying  chival- 
rous politeness."  Herr  von  Richter  proposed 
to  Signor  "  Tshibadola "  that  he  should  select 
the  place;  Signor  "Tshibadola"  replied,  wag- 
ging his  tongue  feebly  (the  wall  inside  him 
had  f'.-umbled  down  again),  something  to  this 
effect:  "Do  you  act,  my  dear  sir,  and  I  will 
watch.  ..." 

And  Herr  von  Richter  began  to  act.  He 
searched  out,  there  in  the  little  wood,  a  very  nice 
little  glade,  all  dotted  with  flowers;  he  paced  off 
the  distance,  marked  the  two  extreme  limits  with 
hastily  sharpened  little  sticks,  took  the  pistols  out 
of  the  case,  and  squatting  down  on  his  heels,  he 
rammed  in  the  bullets.  In  a  word,  he  toiled  and 
laboured  with  all  his  might,  incessantly  mopping 
his  perspiring  face  with  a  white  handkerchief. 
Pantaleone,  who  accompanied  him,  more  resem- 
bled a  frozen  man.  While  all  these  preparations 
were  in  progress,  the  two  antagonists  stood  aloof, 

89 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

reminding  one  of  two  chastised  school-boys  who 
are  pouting  at  their  tutors. 

The  decisive  moment  arrived.  .  .  . 

Each  took  his  pistol.  .  .  . 

But  at  this  point  Herr  von  Richter  remarked 
to  Pantaleone,  that,  according  to  the  rules  of  du- 
elling, it  was  his  place,  as  the  elder  of  the  seconds, 
before  pronouncing  the  fatal:  "One!  two!  three!" 
to  address  to  the  combatants  a  final  counsel  and 
proposition  that  they  become  reconciled ;  that,  al- 
though that  proposition  never  had  any  result,  and 
was,  in  general,  nothing  but  an  empty  formality, 
still,  by  complying  with  that  formality,  Signor 
Cippatola  would  remove  from  his  own  shoulders 
a  certain  amount  of  responsibility;  that,  to  tell 
the  truth,  such  an  allocution  constituted  a  direct 
obligation  of  the  so-called  "impartial  witness" 
{unpartheiischer  Zeuge)  —but,  as  they  had  no 
such  witness,  he,  HeiT  von  Richter,  gladly  re- 
signed that  privilege  to  his  respected  colleague. 
Pantaleone,  who  had  already  managed  to  hide 
himself  behind  a  bush,  so  that  he  might  not  see 
the  offending  officer  at  all,  did  not,  at  first,  un- 
derstand a  word  of  Herr  von  Richter's  speech, 
—the  more   so,  as  it  was  uttered  through  the 
nose;   but   he   suddenly   gave   a   start,    stepped 
briskly  forward,  and  beating  his  breast  convul- 
sively with  his  hands,  he  roared  out,  with  a  hoarse 
voice,  in  his  mixed  dialect :  ''A  la  la  la  .  .  .  .  Che 
hestialita!    Deux  zeunommes  comme  pa  que  si 

90 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

battono—perche?  Che  diavolo?  Andate  a 
casa! " 

"I  do  not  agree  to  a  reconciliation," — said 
Sanin,  hastily. 

"  Neither  do  I  agree," — repeated  his  adversary 
after  him. 

"Well,  then,  shout:  'One,  two,  three!'"  said 
Herr  von  Richter,  turning  to  the  disconcerted 
Pantaleone. 

The  latter  immediately  dived  into  the  bush 
again — and  thence  shouted  out,  all  curled  up,  and 
with  his  eyes  tightly  closed,  and  his  head  turned 
away,  but  at  the  top  of  his  lungs :  "  Una  .... 
due  .  .  .  .  e  tre! " 

Sanin  shot  first — and  missed.  His  bullet  rat- 
tled against  a  tree.  Baron  Donhof  fired  imme- 
diately after  him — intentionally  to  one  side,  and 
in  the  air. 

A  strained  silence  ensued.  .  .  .  No  one  stirred 
from  his  place.  Pantaleone  uttered  a  faint  ex- 
clamation. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  continue?  " — said  Donhof. 

"Why  did  you  fire  into  the  air?" — asked 
Sanin. 

"  That  is  no  business  of  yours." 

"  Are  you  going  to  fire  into  the  air  a  second 
time?  " — asked  Sanin  again. 

"  Perhaps  so ;  I  don't  know." 

"  Permit  me,  permit  me,  gentlemen  .  .  .  ." 
began  von  Richter;—"  the  duellists  have  no  right 

91 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

to  talk  to  each  other.  That  is  entirely  out  of 
order." 

"  I  renounce  my  shot,"— said  Sanin,  flinging 
his  pistol  on  the  ground. 

"  And  I,  also,  have  no  intention  of  continuing 
the  duel," — exclaimed  Donhof,  also  flinging 
away  his  pistol.  "  Yes,  and  more  than  that,  I 
am  now  ready  to  admit  that  I  was  not  in  the  right 
— day  before  yesterday." 

He  fidgeted  about  where  he  stood,  and  put  out 
his  hand,  in  an  undecided  way. 

Sanin  swiftly  approached  him, — and  shook  it. 
The  two  young  men  looked  at  each  other  smil- 
ingly,— and  the  faces  of  both  flushed  crimson. 

''  Bravi!  hravi!" — suddenly  roared  Pantaleone, 
like  a  madman — and,  clapping  his  hands,  he 
rushed  head  over  heels  out  of  the  bush;  and  the 
doctor,  who  had  seated  himself  on  one  side,  upon 
a  felled  tree,  immediately  rose,  poured  the  water 
out  of  the  jug— and  walked  ofl",  lazily  swaying 
his  hips,  to  the  edge  of  the  forest. 

"  Honour  is  satisfied— and  the  duel  is  at  an 
end!  "—proclaimed  Herr  von  Richter. 

"  Fuon!"—digSi\r\  shouted  Pantaleone,  from 
force  of  ancient  habit. 

After  having  exchanged  salutes  with  the  officers, 
and  taken  his  seat  once  more  in  the  carriage, 
Sanin,  truth  to  tell,  felt  in  all  his  being,  if  not 
satisfaction,  at  least  a  certain  lightness,  as  after 

92 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

an  operation  has  been  undergone;  but  another 
feeling,  akin  to  shame,  was  beginning  to  stir 
within  him.  .  .  .  The  duel  in  which  he  had  just 
taken  part  appeared  to  him  a  falsehood,  a  pre- 
viously agreed-upon,  official,  commonplace  stu- 
dent's jest.  He  recalled  the  phlegmatic  doctor, 
he  recalled  how  he  had  smiled — that  is  to  say,  had 
wrinkled  up  his  nose— when  he  beheld  him  emerge 
from  the  wood  almost  arm-in-arm  with  Baron 
Donhof.  And  then,  when  Pantaleone  had  paid 
over  to  that  same  doctor  the  four  ducats  which 
were  his  due— ekh!  something  was  wrong! 

Yes,  Sanin  was  somewhat  conscience-stricken 
and  mortified  ....  although,  on  the  other 
hand,  what  else  was  there  for  him  to  do?  He 
could  not  have  left  unchastised  the  insolence  of 
the  young  officer,  he  could  not  have  imitated  Herr 
Kliiber?  He  had  stood  up  for  Gemma,  he  had 
defended  her.  .  .  .  That  was  so;  but,  neverthe- 
less, his  soul  ached,  and  he  was  conscience- 
stricken,  and  even  mortified. 

On  the  other  hand,  Pantaleone— simply  tri- 
umphed! Pride  had  suddenly  taken  possession 
of  him.  A  victorious  general,  returning  from 
the  field  of  battle  won  by  him,  could  not  have 
gazed  about  him  with  greater  self-satisfaction. 
Sanin's  behaviour  during  the  duel  had  filled  him 
with  rapture.  He  lauded  him  for  a  hero— and 
would  not  listen  to  his  exhortations  and  even  en- 
treaties.    He  compared  him  to  a  monument  of 

93 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

marble,  or  even  of  bronze— to  the  statue  of  the 
Commander  in  "Don  Giovanni!"  As  for  him- 
self, he  admitted  that  he  had  felt  some  consterna- 
tion;—"but  I  'm  an  artist,  you  see,"— he  re- 
marked,— "  I  have  a  nervous  nature,  but  you  are 
a  son  of  the  snows  and  granite  cliffs." 

Sanin  positively  did  not  know  how  to  put  a 
stopper  on  the  artist,  who  had  mounted  his  high 
horse. 

Almost  at  the  identical  point  on  the  road  where 
they  had  found  Emile  a  couple  of  hours  before, 
he  again  sprang  out  from  behind  a  tree,  and 
with  a  joyful  cry  on  his  lips,  waving  his  cap  over 
his  head,  and  skipping  and  leaping,  he  rushed 
straight  at  the  carriage,  came  near  falling  under 
the  wheels,  and  without  waiting  for  the  horses  to 
come  to  a  halt,  clambered  over  the  closed  door 
and  fairly  feasted  his  eyes  on  Sanin. 

"You  are  alive,  you  are  not  wounded!" — he 
kept  repeating.  "  Forgive  me,  I  did  not  obey 
you,  I  did  not  return  to  Frankfurt.  ...  I  could 
not!  I  waited  for  you  here.  .  .  .  Tell  me  how 
it  went  off — you  ....  did  you  kill  him? " 

With  difficulty  Sanin  quieted  Emile,  and  made 
him  seat  himself. 

With  much  verbosity,  with  evident  satisfac- 
tion, Pantaleone  communicated  to  him  all  the 
details  of  the  duel,  and,  of  course,  did  not  fail  to 
mention  the  monument  of  bronze,  the  statue  of 

94 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

the  Commander !  He  even  rose  from  his  seat,  and 
straddling  his  legs  apart  to  preserve  his  equili- 
brium, folding  his  arms  on  his  chest,  and  casting 
glances  of  scorn  over  his  shoulder — he  presented 
a  visible  image  of  Commander  Sanin!  £mile  lis- 
tened with  reverence,  now  and  then  interrupting 
the  narration  by  an  exclamation,  or  hastily  rising 
half-way,  and  as  hastily  kissing  his  heroic  friend. 

The  carriage-wheels  rattled  on  the  pavements 
of  Frankfurt— and  halted,  at  last,  in  front  of  the 
hotel  in  which  Sanin  dwelt. 

Escorted  by  his  two  fellow-travellers,  he  was 
mountimnf-  the  stairs  to  the  second  story,  when, 
sudderly,  from  a  dark,  narrow  corridor,  a  woman 
emerged  with  hasty  steps;  her  face  was  covered 
with  a  veil;  she  halted  in  front  of  Sanin,  reeled 
slightly,  gave  a  palpitating  sigh,  and  immediately 
ran  down-stairs  to  the  street— and  vanished,  to 
the  great  amazement  of  the  waiter,  who  an- 
nounced that  "that  lady  had  been  awaiting  the 
return  of  Monsieur  the  Foreigner  for  more  than 
an  hour  past."  Momentary  as  was  her  appear- 
ance, Sanin  succeeded  in  recognising  her  as 
Gemma.  He  recognised  her  eyes,  beneath  the 
thick  silk  veil,  light  brown  in  hue. 

"  Did  Fraulein  G^emma  know  .  .  ."  he  said 
slowly,  in  a  voice  of  displeasure,  addressing  him- 
self in  German  to  Emile  and  Pantaleone,  who 
were  following  on  his  heels. 

Emile  flushed  scarlet  and  grew  confused. 

95 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  I  was  forced  to  tell  her  everything," — he 
stammered,—"  she  guessed  it— and  I  could  not 
possibly.  .  .  .  But  that  is  of  no  consequence  now, 
you  see," — he  caught  himself  up  with  vivacity, — 
"  everything  turned  out  so  well,  and  she  has  seen 
you  safe  and  uninjured! " 

Sanin  turned  away. 

"  What  a  party  of  chatterers  you  are!  "  he  said 
with  vexation,  entering  his  own  room,  and  seat- 
ing himself  on  a  chair. 

"Don't  be  angry,  please," — said  Emile. 

"Very  well,  I  will  not," — (Sanin  really  was 
not  angry, — and,  of  course,  it  was  hardly  possible 
for  him  to  wish  that  G^emma  should  know  no- 
thing). "Very  well  .  .  .  have  done  with  your 
embraces.  Go  away  now,  I  'm  going  to  sleep. 
I  want  to  be  alone.    I  'm  tired." 

"  A  splendid  idea!  "—exclaimed  Pantaleone. 
"  You  need  rest!  You  have  fully  earned  it,  noble 
signore!  Come  along,  EmiHo!  On  tiptoe!  On 
tiptoe!    Sssssssh!" 

In  saying  that  he  wished  to  sleep,  Sanin's  sole 
object  was  to  rid  himself  of  his  companions;  but 
when  he  was  left  alone,  he  really  did  feel  a  con- 
siderable degree  of  fatigue  in  all  his  limbs.  He 
had  hardly  closed  an  eye  during  the  whole  of  the 
previous  night,  and  throwing  himself  on  the  bed, 
he  immediately  sank  into  a  deep  sleep. 


96 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


XXIII 

He  slept  for  several  hours  in  succession,  without 
waking.  Then  he  began  to  dream  that  he  was 
again  fighting  the  duel,  that  Herr  Kliiber  was 
standing  opposite  him,  in  the  capacity  of  his  an- 
tagonist, and  that  on  a  fir-tree  sat  a  parrot— and 
the  parrot  was  Pantaleone,  and  it  kept  reiterat- 
ing, as  it  waggled  its  bill:  "One — one — one!  one 
— one — one — one ! " 

"  One  ....  one  ....  one!  !  "  he  heard  quite  too 
plainly.  He  opened  his  eyes,  half  raised  his  head. 
....  Some  one  was  tapping  at  his  door. 

"Come  in!"  shouted  Sanin. 

The  waiter  made  his  appearance,  and  an- 
nounced that  a  lady  was  extremely  anxious  to  see 
him. 

"  Gemma!  "—flashed  through  his  head  .  .  .  . 
but  the  lady  turned  out  to  be  her  mother — Frau 
Lenore. 

As  soon  as  she  entered,  she  sank  on  a  chair  and 
began  to  weep. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  my  good,  dear 
Signora  Roselli?  " — began  Sanin,  seating  him- 
self by  her  side,  and  touching  her  hand  with  a 
gentle  caress.  "  What  has  happened?  Calm 
yourself,  I  entreat  you." 

"Akh,  Herr  Dimitri,  I  am  very  ....  very 
unhappy!" 

07 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  You  are  unhappy?  " 

"  Akh,  very!  And  could  I  have  expected  it? 
All  at  once,  like  thunder  in  a  clear  sky.  ..." 

She  drew  her  breath  with  difficulty. 

"  But  what  is  it?  Explain  yourself!  Would 
you  Uke  a  glass  of  water?  " 

"  No,  I  thank  you.  .  ."  Frau  Lenore  wiped 
her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief,  and  fell  to  weep- 
ing again,  with  fresh  vigour.—"  You  see,  I  know 
everything!    Everything!" 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  everything  *?  " 

"  Everything  that  has  taken  place  to-day! 
And  the  cause  ....  is  known  to  me  also !  You 
have  behaved  like  a  gentleman;  but  what  an  un- 
fortunate combination  of  circumstances!  'T  was 
not  for  nothing  that  I  did  not  like  that  trip  to 
Soden.  .  .  .  Not  for  nothing! "  (Frau  Lenore  had 
said  nothing  of  the  sort  on  the  day  of  the  excur- 
sion, but  now  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  fore- 
seen "  everything.")  — "  And  I  have  come  to  you, 
as  to  a  gentleman,  as  to  a  friend,  although  I  saw 
you  for  the  first  time  five  days  ago.  .  .  .  But, 
you  know,  I  am  a  widow,  alone.  .  .  My  daugh- 

L\^X      •      •      •      • 

Tears  choked  Frau  Lenore's  voice.  Sanin  did 
not  know  what  to  think. — "  Your  daughter?  " — 
he  repeated  after  her. 

"My  daughter,  Gemma," — burst  almost  in  a 
groan  from  beneath  Frau  Lenore's  tear-drenched 
handkerchief,— "has    announced    to    me    to-day 

98 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

that  she  will  not  marry  Herr  Kliiber,  and  that 
I  must  dismiss  him !  " 

Sanin  even  fell  back  a  little.  He  had  not  ex- 
pected this. 

"  I  will  not  allude  to  the  fact,"— pursued  Frau 
Lenore, — "  that  no  such  thing  ever  happened  in 
the  world,  as  a  betrothed  girl's  rejecting  her  be- 
trothed husband;  but,  you  see,  that  means  our 
ruin,  Herr  Dimitri!" — Frau  Lenore  rolled  her 
handkerchief  carefully  and  tightly  into  a  tiny, 
tiny  ball,  as  though  she  were  trying  to  lock  up 
in  it  all  her  woe. — "  We  are  no  longer  able  to  live 
on  the  income  from  our  shop,  Herr  Dimitri !  and 
Herr  Kliiber  is  very  rich,  and  will  be  still  richer. 
And  why  reject  him?  Because  he  did  not  stand 
up  for  his  betrothed?  Let  us  grant  that  it 
was  not  quite  nice  on  his  part;  but,  you  see, 
he  is  a  civilian,  he  was  not  educated  in  a  univer- 
sity, and,  as  a  staid  merchant,  he  is  bound  to 
despise  the  frivolous  pranks  of  an  unknown 
officer.  And  what  sort  of  an  insult  was  it,  Herr 
Dimitri?" 

"  Pardon  me,  Frau  Lenore,  you  appear  to  be 
condemning  me.  ..." 

"  I  am  not  condemning  you  in  the  least !  It  is 
quite  another  matter  with  you.  You,  like  all 
Russians,  are  a  military  man  .  .  .  ." 

"Excuse  me,  I  am  not  a  .  .  .  ." 

"  You  are  a  foreigner,  a  passing  traveller,  I 
am  grateful  to  you," — went  on  Frau  Lenore, 

99 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

without  heeding  Sanin.  She  sighed,  threw  out 
her  hands,  spread  the  handkerchief  out  again, 
and  blew  her  nose.  From  the  very  way  in  which 
her  grief  manifested  itself,  it  could  be  seen  that 
she  had  not  been  born  under  a  northern  sky. — 
"  And  how  is  Herr  Kliiber  to  trade  in  his  shop, 
if  he  fights  with  his  patrons?  That  is  totally 
incompatible!  And  now  I  must  dismiss  him! 
But  what  are  we  to  live  on?  In  former  days  we 
made  althea  paste,  and  nougat  with  pistachio 
nuts— and  customers  came  to  us;  but  now  every- 
body makes  althea  paste!  Just  reflect:  even 
without  this  there  will  be  talk  in  the  town  over 
your  duel  .  .  .  can  it  be  concealed?  And  all  of 
a  sudden  the  marriage  is  broken  off !  Why,  that 
is  a  scandal,  a  scandal!  Gemma  is  a  very  fine 
girl,  she  is  very  fond  of  me ;  but  she  is  a  stubborn 
republican,  she  defies  the  opinion  of  others.  You 
alone  can  persuade  her!  " 

Sanin  was  more  astonished  than  before. — "  I, 
Frau  Lenore?  " 

"  Yes,  you  alone.  .  .  .  You  alone.  That  is 
why  I  came  to  you.  I  could  not  think  of  any- 
thing else!  You  are  such  a  learned,  such  a  nice 
man!  You  stood  up  for  her.  She  will  believe 
you!  She  must  believe  you — surely,  you  have 
risked  your  life  for  her!  You  will  prove  to  her — 
but  I  can  do  no  more!— You  will  prove  to  her 
that  she  will  ruin  herself  and  all  the  rest  of  us. 
You  have  saved  my  son— save  my  daughter  also  I 

100 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

God  himself  has  sent  you  hither.  .  .  I  am  ready 
to  implore  you  on  my  knees !  " 

And  Frau  Lenore  half  rose  from  her  chair,  as 
though  preparing  to  throw  herself  at  Sanin's 
feet.  .  .  .  He  restrained  her. 

"Frau  Lenore!  For  God's  sake!  What  are 
you  doing?  " 

"  Do  you  promise?  You  would  not  have  me 
fall  dead  here,  before  j^our  ej^es?  " 

Sanin  was  distracted.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
life  it  fell  to  his  lot  to  deal  with  Italian  blood 
aflame. 

" I  will  do  anything  you  like! "—he  cried.  " I 
will  talk  with  Fraulein  Gemma.  .  .  ." 

Frau  Lenore  screamed  with  joy. 

"Only,  really,  I  don't  know  what  the  result 
will  be.  .  .  ." 

"  Akh,  do  not  refuse,  do  not  refuse!  "—said 
Frau  Lenore,  in  an  imploring  voice.  "  You  have 
already  consented !  The  result  will,  assuredly,  be 
excellent!  At  any  rate,  I  can  do  no  more.  She 
will  not  listen  to  me! " 

"  Has  she  announced  to  you,  in  such  decisive 
terms,  her  disinclination  to  marry  Herr  Kliiber? " 
— inquired  Sanin,  after  a  brief  silence. 

"  She  cut  as  with  a  knife!  She  's  exactly  like 
her  father,  Giovan'  Battista!  The  intractable 
creature ! " 

"  Intractable?  She?  ..."  repeated  Sanin, 
slowly. 

101 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  Yes  ....  yes  ....  but  she  is  an  angel  also. 
She  will  listen  to  you.  You  will  come,  you  will 
come  soon?  Oh,  my  dear  Russian  friend!" — 
Frau  Lenore  rose  impulsively  from  her  chair,  and 
with  equal  impulsiveness  embraced  the  head  of 
Sanin,  who  was  sitting  before  her.—"  Accept  a 
mother's  blessing — and  give  me  some  water!  " 

Sanin  brought  Signora  Roselli  a  glass  of 
water,  gave  her  his  word  of  honour  that  he  would 
go  immediately,  escorted  her  down  the  stairs  to 
the  street— and,  on  returning  to  his  room,  he  even 
wrung  his  hands,  and  opened  his  eyes  to  their 
fullest  extent. 

"  Here,"— he  thought,— "  here,  now,  my  life 
has  taken  a  turn!  Yes,  and  such  a  turn  that  my 
head  reels  with  it."  He  did  not  even  attempt  to 
look  within  himself,  to  understand  what  was 
going  on  there:  a  hubbub — and  that  is  all  there 
was  to  it!  "What  a  day  this  has  been!"— his 
lips  whispered  involuntarily.  "  '  Intractable ' 
....  her  mother  says.  .  .  .  And  I  am  to  advise 
her  .  .  .  ei!    And  what  am  I  to  advise?" 

Sanin's  head  really  reeled— and  above  all  this 
whirlwind  of  varied  sensations,  impressions,  un- 
expressed thoughts,  floated  constantly  the  image 
of  Gemma,  that  image  which  had  graven  itself 
inefFaceably  in  his  memory  on  that  warm,  electric- 
ally-shaken night,  in  that  dark  window,  beneath 
the  rays  of  the  swarming  stars! 


102 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


XXIV 

With  irresolute  steps  Sanin  approached  the 
house  of  Signora  Roselli.  His  heart  was  beating 
violently;  he  plainly  felt  it,  and  even  heard  it 
thumping  against  his  ribs.  What  was  he  to  say 
to  Gemma,  how  was  he  to  begin  the  conversation 
with  her?  He  entered  the  house  not  through  the 
confectionery  shop,  but  by  the  rear  door.  In  the 
small  entrance-room  he  encountered  Frau  Le- 
nore.  She  was  both  delighted  to  see  him,  and 
terrified. 

"I  have  been  waiting,  waiting  for  you," — she 
said,  in  a  whisper,  squeezing  his  hand  with  both 
her  hands  alternately.  "  Go  into  the  garden;  she 
is  there.    And  see  here;  I  depend  upon  you! " 

Sanin  betook  himself  to  the  garden. 

Gemma  was  sitting  on  a  bench  near  the  path, 
and  from  a  large  basket  filled  with  cherries  was 
sorting  out  the  ripest  upon  a  plate.  The  sun 
hung  low — it  was  already  between  six  and  seven 
o'clock  in  the  evening — and  there  was  more  of 
crimson  than  of  gold  in  the  broad  rays  with 
which  it  flooded  Signora  Roselli's  little  garden. 
From  time  to  time  the  leaves  whispered  together, 
almost  inaudibly,  and  as  though  at  leisure,  and 
belated  bees  buzzed  disconnectedly  from  flower  to 
the  neighbouring  flower,  and  somewhere  a  turtle- 
dove was  cooing,  monotonously  and  unweariedly. 

103 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Gemma  wore  the  same  round  hat  in  which  she 
had  driven  to  Soden.  She  cast  a  glance  at  Sanin 
from  beneath  its  upturned  brim,  and  again  bent 
over  her  basket. 

Sanin  approached  Gemma,  involuntarily  mak- 
ing each  step  shorter  and  shorter,  and  ....  and 
.  .  .  and  found  nothing  else  to  say  to  her  than 
to  ask  why  she  was  sorting  the  cherries. 

Gemma  made  no  haste  in  replying  to  him. 
These  are  over-ripe,"— she  said,   at  last. — 

They  will  do  for  preserves,  and  the  others  for 
filling  tarts.  You  know,  we  sell  those  round 
tarts,  with  sugar." 

So  saying.  Gemma  bent  her  head  still  lower, 
and  her  right  hand,  with  two  cherries  between 
its  fingers,  remained  suspended  in  the  air,  be- 
tween the  basket  and  the  plate. 

"  May  I  sit  down  beside  you?  " — asked  Sanin. 

"Yes." — Gemma  moved  along  a  little  on  the 
bench.  Sanin  seated  himself  by  her  side.  "  How 
shall  I  begin? "  he  thought.  But  Gemma  extri- 
cated him  from  his  dilemma. 

"  You  fought  a  duel  to-day,"— she  said,  with 
animation,  turning  her  lovely,  bashfully  blushing 
face  full  upon  him, — and  what  profound  grati- 
tude beamed  in  her  eyes! — "And  you  are  so 
calm?  That  signifies  that  danger  does  not  exist 
for  you?  " 

"Good  gracious  1     I  did  not  subject  myself 

104 


SPRIXG  FRESHETS 

to  any  danger.  Ever}i:hing  went  off  very  suc- 
cessfully and  inoffensively." 

Gemma  passed  her  finger  to  right  and  left  in 
front  of  her  eves.  .  .  .  Another  Italian  gesture. 
— "Xo!  no!  do  not  say  that!  You  cannot  de- 
ceive me!    Pantaleone  has  told  me  all!  " 

"The  idea  of  his  telling-  voul  Did  he  com- 
pare  me  to  the  statue  of  the  Commander?  " 

"  His  expressions  may  be  ridiculous,  but  his 
feeling  is  not  ridiculous,  and  neither  is  that  which 
you  have  done  to-dav.  And  all  for  mv  sake  .  .  . 
for  my  sake.  .  .  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

"  I  assure  you,  Fraulein  Gemma  .  .  .  ." 

"  I  shall  not  forget  it,''  —  she  said,  pausing  be- 
tween the  words,  and  once  more  she  looked  fix- 
edly at  him.  and  turned  awav. 

He  could  now  see  her  delicate,  pure  profile: 
and  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  never  beheld 
ami:hing  like  it  —  and  had  never  experienced  any- 
thing like  what  he  felt  at  that  moment.  His  soul 
burned  within  him. 

"And  my  promise!" — flashed  tlirough  his 
thoughts. 

"  Fraulein  Gemma  .  .  .  ."  he  began,  after  a 
momentary'  hesitation. 

"  What)  " 

She  did  not  turn  toward  him;  she  went  on  sort- 
ing; the  cherries,  cautiously  seizing  their  stems 
in  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  carefully  lifting  the 

105 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

leaves.  .  .  .  But    how    confidingly    affectionate 
did  that  one  word,  "  what,"  sound! 

"  Has   your  mother  told  you  nothing  .  .  . 
about  .  .  .  ." 

"About?" 

"About  me?" 

Gemma  suddenly  threw  the  cherries  which  she 
had  picked  up  back  into  the  basket. 

"Has  she  been  talking  to  you?"— she  queried 
in  her  turn. 

"  Yes." 

"What  has  she  said?" 

"  She  told  me  that  you  .  .  .  that  you  had  sud- 
denly decided  to  change  ....  your  former  in- 
tentions." 

Gemma's  head  was  again  bent  low.  It  entirely 
disappeared  under  the  hat ;  nothing  but  her  neck, 
supple  and  soft  as  the  stalk  of  a  great  flower, 
was  visible. 

"What  intentions?" 

"  Your  intentions  ....  with  regard  to  ...  . 
the  future  organisation  of  your  life." 

"  That  is  .  .  .  are  you  talking  about  .... 
Herr  Kliiber? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  mamma  tell  you  that  I  did  not  wish  to 
be  Herr  Kliiber's  wife?  " 

"  Yes." 

Gemma  moved  along  the  bench.  The  basket 
tipped,  fell  ....  several  cherries  rolled  along 

106 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

the  path.  One  minute  elapsed  ....  then  an- 
other. .  .  . 

"  Why  did  she  tell  you  that?  "—her  voice  made 
itself  heard.  As  before,  Sanin  beheld  only 
Gemma's  neck.  Her  bosom  was  rising  and  fall- 
ing more  quickly  than  before. 

"Why,  your  mother  thought  that,  as  you  and 
I  had,  so  to  speak,  made  friends  in  a  short  time, 
and  you  had  some  degree  of  confidence  in  me,  I 
might  be  in  a  position  to  give  you  some  useful 
advice — and  that  you  would  heed  me." 

Gemma's  hands  'slipped  softly  down  upon  her 
knees.  .  .  .  She  began  to  arrange  the  folds  of 
her  gown. 

"And  what  advice  are  you  going  to  give  me, 
M.  Dimitri?" — she  asked,  after  a  pause. 

Sanin  perceived  that  Gemma's  fingers  were 
trembling  on  her  knees.  .  .  .  She  was  arrang- 
ing the  folds  of  her  gown  merely  for  the  purpose 
of  hiding  that  tremor.  .  .  He  laid  his  hand  gen- 
tly on  those  pallid,  tremulous  fingers. 

"  Gemma," — he  said, — "  why  do  you  not  look 
at  me? " 

She  instantly  tossed  her  hat  back  over  her 
shoulder — and  riveted  on  him  eyes  as  trusting 
and  grateful  as  ever.  She  waited  to  see  what  he 
would  say.  .  .  .  But  the  sight  of  her  face  con- 
fused, and,  as  it  were,  blinded  him.  The  warm 
glow  of  the  evening  sun  illumined  her  young 
head — and  the  expression  of  that  head  was  even 

107 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

brighter  and  more  brilliant  than  that  glow 
itself. 

"  I  am  listening  to  you,  M.  Dimitri,"— she  be- 
gan, with  a  barely  perceptible  smile,  and  an  al- 
most imperceptible  elevation  of  the  eyebrows; 
"  but  what  advice  are  you  going  to  give  me?  " 

"What  advice?" — repeated  Sanin. — "Why, 
you  see,  your  mother  thinks  that  to  dismiss  Herr 
Kliiber  simply  because  he  did  not  display  any 
particular  bravery  the  day  before  yesterday  . . . ." 

"Simply  because?"  said  Gemma,  bending 
down,  picking  up  the  basket  and  placing  it  beside 
her  on  the  bench. 

"  That  ...  in  general  ...  to  dismiss  him 
would  not  be — wise,  on  your  part;  that  it  would 
be  a  step  all  of  whose  consequences  should  be 
well  weighed;  that,  in  conclusion,  the  condition 
of  your  affairs  imposes  certain  obligations  upon 
each  member  of  your  family.  ..." 

"  All  that  is  mamma's  idea,"— interposed 
Geroma;  "  those  are  her  words.  I  know  that;  but 
what  is  your  opinion?  " 

"Mine?"— Sanin  ceased.  He  felt  that  some- 
thing was  rising  in  his  throat,  and  stopping  his 
breath.—"  I  also  think,"— he  began,  with  an 
effort.  .  .  . 

Gemma  drew  herself  up. — "Also  ?  You— also  ? " 

"  Yes  ....  that  is  to  say  .  .  .  ."  Sanin  could 
not  positively  add  another  word. 

"  Very  well,"— said  Gemma.     "  If  you,  as  a 

108 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

friend,  advise  me  to  alter  my  decision  .  .  .  that 
is,  not  to  alter  my  former  decision, — I  will  think 
about  it." — Without  herself  being  aware  of  what 
she  was  doing,  she  began  to  lay  the  cherries  back 
again  from  the  plate  into  the  basket.  .  .  . 
"  Mamma  hopes  that  I  will  obey  you.  .  .  .  What 
then?    Perhaps  I  really  shall  obey  you." 

"  But,  pardon  me,  Fraulein  Gemma,  I  should 
first  like  to  know  what  causes  have  prompted 
you.  .  .  ." 

"  I  shall  obey  you,"— repeated  Gemma,— all 
around  her  brow  was  quivering,  her  cheeks  paled ; 
she  bit  her  lower  lip. — "  You  have  done  so  much 
for  me  that  I  am  bound  to  do  what  you  wish;  I 
am  bound  to  comply  with  your  wish.  I  will  tell 
mamma  .  .  .  that  I  will  think  it  over.  By  the 
way,  yonder  she  is,  coming  this  way." 

In  fact,  Frau  Lenore  made  her  appearance  on 
the  threshold  of  the  door  which  led  from  the  house 
into  the  garden.  She  was  torn  asunder  with  im- 
patience :  she  could  not  sit  still  in  one  place.  Ac- 
cording to  her  calculations,  Sanin  must  have  fin- 
ished his  explanation  with  Gemma  long  ago,  al- 
though his  conversation  with  her  had  not  lasted 
a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

*'  No,  no,  no,  for  God's  sake,  tell  her  nothing 
for  the  present," — ejaculated  Sanin,  hastily,  al- 
most in  terror. — "  Wait.  ...  I  will  tell  you,  I 
will  write  to  you  ....  and  until  then,  do  not 
decide  on  anything.  .  .  .  Wait! " 

109 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

He  pressed  Gemma's  hand,  sprang  up  from 
the  bench,— and  to  the  great  surprise  of  Frau 
Lenore,  darted  swiftly  past  her,  raising  his  hat  as 
he  did  so,  muttered  something  uninteUigible— 
and  disappeared. 

She  approached  her  daughter. 

"  Tell  me,  please.  Gemma  ....*' 

The  latter  suddenly  rose  and  embraced  her. 
.  .  .  .  "  Dear  mamma,  can  you  wait  a  little,  just 
a  wee  little  bit  ...  .  until  to-morrow?  Can 
you?  So  that  there  shall  not  be  a  word  until 
to-morrow?  ....  Akh!  " 

She  burst  into  sudden,  bright  tears,  unexpected 
even  by  herself.  This  astonished  Frau  Lenore 
all  the  more  because  the  expression  of  Gemma's 
face  was  far  from  sad,  joyful  rather. 

"What  ails  thee?"— she  asked.  "Thou  hast 
never  been  in  the  habit  of  weeping — and  all  of 
a  sudden.  .  .  ." 

"  Never  mind,  mamma,  never  mind!  only  wait. 
We  must  both  wait.  Ask  me  nothing  until  to- 
morrow—and let  me  sort  the  cherries,  before  the 
sun  sets." 

"Butthou  wilt  be  wise?" 

"  Oh,  I  am  very  wise!  "—Gemma  nodded  her 
head  significantly.  She  began  to  tie  the  cherries 
up  in  little  bunches,  holding  them  high  in  front 
of  her  blushing  face.  She  did  not  wipe  away  her 
tears;  they  dried  of  themselves. 


110 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


XXV 

Sanin  returned  to  his  lodgings  almost  at  a  run. 
He  felt,  he  was  conscious  that  only  there,  only 
alone  with  himself,  would  it  finally  become  clear 
to  him  what  ailed  him,  what  had  happened  to 
him.  And,  in  fact,  he  had  not  succeeded  in  en- 
tering his  room,  he  had  not  succeeded  in  seating 
himself  in  front  of  the  writing-table,  before  he 
exclaimed  in  a  mournful,  dull  voice,  as  he  leaned 
his  elbows  on  that  same  table,  and  pressed  his 
palms  to  his  face:  "I  love  her,  I  love  her 
madly!"— and  he  blushed  all  over  inwardly,  like 
a  coal  from  which  a  layer  of  dead  ashes  has  sud- 
denly been  blown  away.  Another  instant  .... 
and  he  was  no  longer  able  to  understand  how  he 
could  have  sat  beside  her  ....  her!— and  chatted 
with  her,  and  not  felt  that  he  worshipped  the  very 
hem  of  her  garment,  that  he  was  ready,  as  young 
men  express  it,—"  to  die  at  her  feet."  That  last 
meeting  in  the  garden  had  settled  everything. 
Now,  when  he  thought  of  her,  she  no  longer  pre- 
sented herself  to  him  with  dishevelled  curls,  by 
the  light  of  the  stars:— he  beheld  her  seated  on 
the  bench,  he  beheld  her  tossing  back  her  hat  with 
one  movement — and  gazing  at  him  so  trustingly 
....  and  the  tremor  and  thirst  of  love  coursed 
through  all  his  veins.  He  recalled  the  rose, 
which  he  had  been  carrying  for  the  last  three  days 

111 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

in  his  pocket:  he  pulled  it  out,  and  pressed  it  to 
his  lips  with  such  feverish  force  that  he  involun- 
tarily frowned  with  pain.  Now  he  no  longer  re- 
flected on  anything,  considered  anything,  calcu- 
lated or  foresaw  anything:  he  separated  himself 
from  all  the  past,  he  leaped  forward:  from  the 
melancholy  shore  of  his  solitary,  celibate  life  he 
plunged  headlong  into  that  cheerful,  seething, 
mighty  freshet — and  his  grief  was  small,  and  he 
did  not  care  to  know  whither  it  would  carry  him, 
and  whether  it  would  not  dash  him  to  pieces 
against  the  cliff !  These  were  no  longer  the  gen- 
tle currents  of  the  Uhland  romance,  which  had  so 
lately  lulled  him.  .  .  .  This  was  a  mighty,  irre- 
sistible billow!  It  flew,  and  gaUoped  onward, — 
and  he  flew  with  it.  .  .  . 

He  took  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  without  erasures, 
almost  with  one  sweep  of  the  pen,  he  wrote  the 
following : 

"  Dear  Gemma  !  You  know  what  advice  I  had  taken 
upon  myself  to  give  you,  you  know  what  your  mother 
wishes,  and  what  her  request  to  me  was, — but  what  you 
do  not  know,  and  what  I  am  bound  to  tell  you  now  is 
—  that  I  love  you,  love  you  with  all  the  passion  of  a 
heart  which  loves  for  the  first  time !  This  fire  has  flamed 
within  me  suddenly,  but  with  what  force,  I  cannot  find 
words  to  describe !  !  When  your  mother  came  to  me  and 
asked  me — it  was  only  smouldering  within  me — other- 
wise, as  an  honourable  man,  I  certainly  would  have  re- 
fused to  execute  her  commission.   .   .   .  The  very  avowal 

112 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

which  I  am  now  making  to  you  is  the  avowal  of  an 
honest  man.  You  must  know  with  whom  you  have  to  do, 
— no  misunderstanding  must  exist  between  us.  You  see 
that  I  cannot  give  you  any  advice.  ...  I  love  you, 
love  you,  love  you— and  there  is  nothing  else  either  in 
my  mind  or  in  any  heart !  ! 

"Dm.  Sanin." 

Having  folded  and  sealed  this  note,  Sanin  was 
on  the  point  of  ringing  for  the  waiter,  and  des- 
patching him  with  it.  .  .  "No!  that  is  awk- 
ward. .  .  .  By  Emile?  But  to  betake  myself 
to  the  shop,  and  seek  him  out,  from  among  the 
other  clerks,  is  awkward.  Moreover,  night  is  at 
hand,  and,  probably,  he  has  already  left  the  shop." 

But,  as  he  meditated  thus,  Sanin  put  on  his 
hat,  and  went  out  into  the  street;  he  turned  one 
corner,  then  another— and,  to  his  indescribable 
joy,  beheld  Emile  in  front  of  him.  With  a  bag 
under  his  arm,  and  a  bundle  of  papers  in  his  hand, 
the  young  enthusiast  was  hurrying  homeward. 

"  Not  without  cause  do  they  say  that  every 
lover  has  his  star,"— thought  Sanin,  and  called  to 
Emile. 

The  latter  wheeled  round,  and  immediately 
rushed  to  him. 

Sanin  did  not  allow  him  to  go  into  raptures, 
handed  him  the  note,  explained  to  him  to  whom 
and  how  to  deliver  it.  .  .  .  Emile  listened  atten- 
tively. 

113 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  No  one  is  to  see  it?  "—he  asked,  imparting  to 
his  face  a  significant  and  mysterious  expression: 
—as  much  as  to  say,  "  we  understand  the  gist  of 
the  matter!" 

"  Yes,  my  dear  friend,"— said  Sanin,  and  be- 
came sHghtly  embarrassed;  but  he  tapped  Emile 
on  the  cheek,  nevertheless  .  .  .  .  "  and  if  there 
should  be  an  answer  .  .  .  you  will  bring  me  the 
answer,  will  you  not?    I  shall  remain  at  home." 

"Don't  you  worry  about  that!" — whispered 
Emile  merrily,  and  ran  off— and  as  he  ran,  he 
nodded  at  him  once  more. 

Sanin  returned  home— and,  without  lighting 
his  candles,  threw  himself  on  the  divan,  put  his 
hands  behind  his  head,  and  surrendered  himself 
to  those  sensations  of  love  which  had  just  been 
avowed,  that  cannot  be  described:  he  who  has 
experienced  them  knows  their  languor  and  sweet- 
ness :  it  is  useless  to  talk  about  them  to  him  who 
has  not  experienced  them. 

The  door  opened— Emile's  head  appeared. 

"I  have  brought  it,"— he  whispered:  — "here 
it  is,  the  answer!  " 

He  showed  a  folded  paper,  and  raised  it  above 
his  head. 

Sanin  sprang  from  the  divan,  and  snatched  it 
from  Emile's  hands.  Passion  had  flamed  up  too 
powerfully  within  him:  he  cared  nothing  now 
for  secrecy,  not  even  for  the  preservation  of  pro- 
priety— even  before  that  young  lad,  her  brother. 

114 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

He  would  have  felt  scruples  before  him,  he  would 
have  liked  to  put  constraint  on  himself— if  he 
could ! 

He  went  to  the  window — and,  by  the  light  of 
a  street  lantern,  which  stood  directly  in  front  of 
the  house,  he  read  the  following  lines : 

"  I  beg  you,  I  implore  you,  not  to  come  to  us  all  day 
to-morrow,  not  to  show  yourself.  This  is  necessary  for 
me,  imperatively  necessary, — and  then  all  will  be  set- 
tled.   I  know  you  will  not  refuse  me,  because  .... 

"  Gemma." 

Sanin  read  this  note  through  twice — oh,  how 
touchingly-charming  and  beautiful  did  her  hand- 
"v^Titing  appear  to  him! — meditated  a  while,  and, 
turning  to  Emile,  who,  desirous  of  letting  it  be 
understood  what  a  discreet  young  man  he  was, 
was  standing  with  his  face  to  the  wall  and  drum- 
ming on  it  with  his  finger-nails,  called  him  loudly 
by  name. 

Emile  immediately  ran  to  Sanin.— "What  are 
your  orders? " 

"  Listen,  my  dear  friend  .  .  .  .  " 

"Monsieur  Dimitri," — Emile  interrupted  him, 
in  a  reproachful  voice: — "why  don't  you  call  me 
'thou'?" 

Sanin  broke  into  a  laugh.— "Well,  all  right. 
Listen,  my  dear  friend" — (Emile  skipped  with 
satisfaction) —"listen:  thou  art  to  say  yonder, 
thou  understandest  where,  that  everj^thing  will 

115 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

be  punctually  executed "— (Emik  compressed 
his  lips,  and  nodded  his  head  solemnly) —"  and 
thyself  ....  What  art  thou  going  to  do  to- 
morrow? " 

"I?  What  am  I  going  to  do?  What  would 
you  like  to  have  me  do? " 

"If  thou  canst,  come  to  me  as  early  in  the 
morning  as  possible, — and  we  will  roam  about 
the  suburbs  of  Frankfurt  until  evening.  .  .  . 
Wilt  thou?" 

Again  Emile  gave  a  skip. — "Good  gracious, 
what  in  the  world  could  be  nicer!  Stroll  with 
you— why,  that  is  simply  splendid!  I'll  come, 
without  fail!" 

"And  what  if  they  will  not  give  thee  leave?" 

"They  will!" 

"  Hearken  .  .  .  Don't  tell  there  that  I  have 
invited  thee  for  the  whole  day." 

"Why  should  I  tell?  I'll  simply  walk  off! 
What  harm  is  there  in  that!"  Emile  kissed  Sa- 
nin  heartily,  and  ran  away. 

But  Sanin  paced  his  chamber  for  a  long  time 
— and  went  to  bed  late.  He  gave  himself  up  to 
the  same  delicate  and  sweet  sensations,  to  that 
same  joyful  swooning  in  the  presence  of  a  new 
life.  Sanin  was  greatly  pleased  that  he  had  hit 
upon  the  idea  of  inviting  Emile  for  the  morrow ; 
he  resembled  his  sister  in  countenance.  "  He  will 
remind  me  of  her,"  thought  Sanin. 

But  what  astonished  him  most  of  all  was :  how 

116 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

he  could  have  been  different  yesterday  from 
what  he  was  to-day.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he 
had  loved  Gemma  "eternally "—and  had  loved 
her  precisely  as  he  loved  her  to-day. 

XXVI 

On  the  following  day,  at  eight  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  Emile,  with  Tartaglia  in  a  leash,  pre- 
sented himself  before  Sanin.  Had  he  sprung  from 
German  parents,  he  could  not  have  displayed 
more  punctuality.  He  had  lied  at  home:  he  had 
said  that  he  was  going  to  walk  with  Sanin  until 
breakfast,  and  then  go  to  the  shop.  While  Sanin 
was  dressing,  Emile  tried  to  talk  to  him,  in  a 
rather  irresolute  way,  it  is  true,  about  Gemma, 
about  the  breaking  of  her  betrothal  with  Herr 
Kliiber;  but  Sanin  maintained  a  grim  silence  in 
response,  and  Emile,  showing  that  he  understood 
why  it  was  not  proper  to  touch  lightly  on  that 
important  point,  no  longer  addressed  him, — and 
merely  assumed,  from  time  to  time,  a  concen- 
trated and  even  stern  expression. 

After  drinking  coffee,  the  two  friends  set  out 
—on  foot,  of  course, — for  Hansen,  a  small  ham- 
let situated  a  short  distance  from  Frankfurt, 
and  surrounded  by  forests.  The  entire  chain  of 
the  Taunus  Mountains  is  visible  thence,  as 
though  in  the  palm  of  one's  hand.  The  weather 
was  magnificent;  the  sun  shone  and  blazed,  but 

117 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

did  not  burn;  a  fresh  breeze  rustled  briskly 
among  the  green  leaves;  over  the  ground,  in 
small  patches,  the  shadows  of  the  lofty,  circular 
clouds  glided  smoothly  and  swiftly.  The  young 
men  soon  emerged  from  the  town  and  stepped 
off  boldly  and  merrily  along  the  smoothly-swept 
road.  They  entered  the  forest — and  rambled 
there  for  quite  a  long  time;  they  ate  a  very 
hearty  breakfast  in  the  village  inn;  then  they 
cHmbed  the  hills,  admired  the  views,  rolled  stones 
down,  and  clapped  their  hands,  when  the  stones 
skipped  amusingly  and  oddly,  like  rabbits,  until 
a  man  who  was  passing  below,  and  was  invisible 
to  them,  berated  them  roundly,  in  a  powerful,  res- 
onant voice ;  then  they  lay  down,  stretching  them- 
selves out  on  the  short,  dry  moss,  of  a  yellowish- 
violet  hue:  they  drank  beer  in  another  hostelry, 
they  ran  races,  leaped  for  a  wager,  to  see  who 
would  jump  furthest.  They  discovered  an  echo, 
and  talked  with  it,  sang,  shouted  "  a-oo,"  broke 
twigs,  decorated  their  hats  with  fronds  of  fern — 
and  even  danced.  Tartaglia  participated  in  all 
these  occupations,  to  the  best  of  his  ability  and 
understanding:  he  could  not  throw  stones,  it  is 
true,  but  he  rolled  heels  over  head  himself,  and 
howled  an  accompaniment  when  the  young  men 
sang,— and  even  drank  beer,  although  with  evi- 
dent disgust :  a  student,  to  whom  he  had  once  be- 
longed, had  taught  him  that  trick.  However,  he 
obeyed  Emile  badly— it  was  quite  another  matter 

118 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

with  his  master  Pantaleone,— and  when  l^mile 
ordered  him  to  "talk,"  or  "sneeze,"— he  merely- 
wagged  his  tail,  and  thrust  out  his  tongue  like  a 
cylinder. 

The  young  men  also  chatted  together.  At  the 
beginning  of  the  stroll,  Sanin,  as  being  the  older, 
and  therefore  the  most  sensible,  undertook  to  dis- 
cuss, what  is  Fate,  or  the  predestination  of  des- 
tiny, and  what  is  the  vocation  of  man,  and  its  sig- 
nificance, but  the  conversation  speedily  took  a  less 
serious  turn.  Emile  began  to  question  his  friend 
and  patron  about  Russia,  about  the  manner  of 
fighting  duels  there,  and  whether  the  women  are 
beautiful  there,  and  whether  one  could  learn  the 
Russian  language  in  a  short  time,  and  how  he 
had  felt  when  the  officer  had  taken  aim  at  him. 
And  Sanin,  in  his  turn,  interrogated  Emile  about 
his  father,  his  mother,  their  family  affairs  in  gen- 
eral, striving  in  every  way  not  to  mention  Gem- 
ma's name, — and  thinking  only  of  her.  Prop- 
erly speaking,  he  did  not  even  think  of  her— but 
of  the  morrow,  of  that  mysterious  to-morrow, 
which  was  to  bring  him  unknown,  unprecedented 
happiness !  There  seemed  to  be  a  curtain,  a  thin, 
light  curtain,  hanging  in  front  of  his  mental  vis- 
ion, swaying  gently, — and  behind  that  curtain  he 
felt  ...  he  felt  the  presence  of  a  young,  im- 
movable, divine  face,  with  an  affectionate  smile 
on  its  lips,  and  eyelashes  downcast  with  sternness, 
feigned  sternness.     And  that  face  was  not  the 

119 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

face  of  Gemma— it  was  the  face  of  bliss  itself! 
And  lo,  at  last,  his  hour  has  come,  the  curtain  has 
rolled  away,  the  mouth  opens,  the  eyelashes  are 
raised— the  divinity  has  seen  him— and  then  there 
is  light,  as  of  the  sun,  and  joy,  and  rapture  un- 
ending! He  thinks  of  that  morrow— and  again 
his  soul  swoons  within  him  for  joy,  in  the  yearn- 
ing of  incessantly -augmenting  anticipation! 

And  nothing  interferes  wdth  this  anticipation, 
this  yearning.  It  accompanies  his  every  move- 
ment— and  hinders  not  in  the  least.  It  does  not 
prevent  his  making  a  capital  dinner  in  a  third 
hostelry  with  Emile.  And  only  from  time  to 
time,  like  a  brief  gleam  of  lightning,  does  the 
thought  flash  up  within  him,— what  if  any  one 
in  the  world  knew  about  it?  This  yearning 
does  not  prevent  his  playing  at  leap-frog  ^vith 
Emile,  after  dinner.  This  game  takes  place  on 
a  luxuriant  green  meadow  ....  and  what  is 
Sanin's  surprise,  what  is  his  amazement,  when, 
with  his  legs  cleverly  spread,  and  in  the  act  of 
flying  like  a  bird  over  the  squatting  Emile,  to  the 
loud  barking  of  Tartaglia,— he  suddenly  sees  be- 
fore him,  on  the  very  edge  of  the  green  glade, — 
two  oflicers,  in  whom  he  immediately  recognises 
his  antagonist  of  the  day  before,  and  his  second, 
Messrs.  von  Donhof  and  Richter!  Each  of  them 
sticks  a  monocle  in  his  eye,  and  stares  at  him,  and 
grins.  .  .  .  Sanin  lands  on  his  feet,  turns  away, 

120 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

hastilj^  dons  his  discarded  coat,  utters  an  abrupt 
word  to  Emile,  the  latter  also  puts  on  his  jacket 
— and  both  immediately  decamp. 

They  returned  late  to  Frankfurt. — "  I  shall  be 
scolded,"— said  Emile  to  Sanin,  as  he  bade  him 
farewell: — "well,  I  don't  care!  But  I  have  had 
such  a  splendid,  splendid  day!" 

On  reaching  his  quarters  in  the  hotel,  Sanin 
found  a  note  from  Gemma.  She  appointed  him 
a  tryst — on  the  following  day,  at  seven  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  in  one  of  the  public  parks  which 
surround  Frankfurt  on  all  sides. 

How  his  heart  quivered!  How  glad  he  was 
that  he  had  obeyed  her  so  implicitly !  And,  great 
heavens,  what  ....  what  all  did  not  that  un- 
precedented, unique,  impossible  and  indubitable 
morrow  promise ! 

He  riveted  his  eyes  upon  Gemma's  letter.  The 
long,  elegant  tail  of  the  letter  G,  the  first  letter 
of  her  name,  which  stood  at  the  end  of  the  sheet, 
— recalled  to  his  mind  her  beautiful  fingers,  her 
hand.  .  .  .  He  thought  that  he  had  never 
touched  that  hand  with  his  lips.  ..."  Italian 
women,"— he  thought,— "are  bashful  and  strict, 
contrary  to  their  reputation.  .  .  .  And  Gemma 
is  far  more  so!  Empress  ....  goddess  .... 
pure,  virgin  marble.  ...  But  the  time  will  come 
—and  'tis  not  far  off  .  .  .  .  " 

There  was  one  happy  mortal  in  Frankfurt  that 

121 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

night  .  .  .  He  slept ;  but  he  could  say  of  himself, 
in  the  words  of  the  poet : 

"I  sleep  .  .  .  but  my  sensitive  heart  sleeps  not.  ..." 

And  it  beat  as  lightly  as  beat  the  wings  of  a 
butterfly,  perched  upon  a  flower,  and  steeped  in 
the  summer  sunshine. 


XXVII 

At  five  o'clock  Sanin  awoke,  at  six  he  was  al- 
ready dressed,  at  half -past  six  he  was  strolling 
through  the  public  park,  in  sight  of  the  little 
arbour  which  Gemma  had  mentioned  in  her  note. 

The  morning  was  still,  warm,  grey.  It  some- 
times seemed  as  though  the  rain  were  on  the  very 
point  of  descending:  but  the  outstretched  hand 
felt  nothing,  and  it  was  only  when  one  glanced 
at  the  sleeve  of  his  garment  that  little  traces  of 
raindrops,  like  the  tiniest  pearls,  could  be  de- 
tected; but  even  these  speedily  ceased.  As  for 
the  wind — it  was  as  though  no  such  thing  existed 
on  earth.  Every  sound,  instead  of  flying,  dif- 
fused itself  around:  in  the  distance,  the  whitish 
mist  grew  slightly  more  dense;  the  air  was  laden 
with  the  fragrance  of  mignonette  and  the  flowers 
of  the  white  acacia. 

The  shops  were  not  yet  open  on  the  streets, 
but  pedestrians  were  already  beginning  to  make 

122 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

their  appearance;  now  and  then  a  sohtary  car- 
riage rumbled  past  ....  no  one  was  strolhng 
in  the  park.  A  gardener  was  scraping  the  path 
with  a  spade,  in  a  leisurely  manner,  and  a  de- 
crepit old  woman  in  a  black  cloth  cloak  was  hob- 
bhng  along  an  alley.  Not  for  a  single  instant 
could  Sanin  take  that  wretched  being  for  Gem- 
ma,— and  yet,  his  heart  gave  a  bound  within  him, 
and  he  followed  the  retreating  black  spot  atten- 
tively with  his  eyes. 

Seven !  boomed  out  the  clock  on  a  tower. 

Sanin  came  to  a  halt. — Was  it  possible  that 
she  would  not  come?  A  cold  shiver  suddenly 
coursed  through  all  his  limbs.  That  same  shiver 
was  repeated  a  moment  later, — but  for  another 
reason.  Sanin  heard  behind  him  light  footsteps, 
the  faint  rustle  of  a  woman's  gown.  .  .  He 
turned  round :  't  was  she ! 

Gemma  was  walking  behind  him,  along  the 
path.  She  wore  a  greyish  mantilla  and  a  small, 
dark  hat.  She  glanced  at  Sanin,  turned  her  head 
aside— and,  as  she  came  on  a  level  with  him, 
walked  swiftly  past. 

"Gemma!"  he  said,  in  a  barely-audible  voice. 

She  gave  him  a  slight  nod— and  continued  to 
walk  on.    He  followed  her. 

He  was  breathing  brokenly.  His  legs  obej^ed 
him  badly. 

Gemma  passed  the  arbour,  turned  to  the  right, 
passed  a  small,  flattish  basin,  wherein  sparrows 

123 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

were  restlessly  splashing— and,  entering  a  clump 
of  lofty  lilacs,  sank  down  on  a  bench.  The  spot 
was  comfortable  and  sheltered.  Sanin  seated 
himself  by  her  side. 

A  minute  passed— and  neither  he  nor  she 
had  uttered  a  word :  she  did  not  even  look  at  him 
— and  he  gazed  not  at  her  face,  but  at  her  clasped 
hands,  in  which  she  held  a  small  parasol.  What 
was  there  to  say?  What  was  there  to  say,  that, 
by  its  significance,  could  compare  with  their  mere 
presence  here,  together,  alone,  so  early,  so  close 
to  each  other? 

"You  ....  are  not  angry  with  me?" — articu- 
lated Sanin  at  last. 

It  would  have  been  difficult  for  Sanin  to  say 
anything  more  stupid  than  these  words  ....  he 
realised  that  himself.  .  .  .  But,  at  all  events,  the 
silence  was  broken. 

"I? "-she  replied.    "What  for?    No." 

"  And  you  believe  me? " — he  went  on. 

"What  you  wrote?" 

"  Yes." 

Gemma  dropped  her  head,  and  said  no- 
thing. The  parasol  slipped  from  her  hands. 
She  hastily  picked  it  up,  before  it  fell  on  the 
path. 

"Akh,  believe  me,  believe  what  I  wrote  to 
you,"— exclaimed  Sanin;  all  his  timidity  had 
suddenly  vanished— he  spoke  with  ardour:  — "if 
there  is  any  truth  on  earth,  sacred,  indubitable 

124 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

truth, — then  it  is  that  I  love  you,  love  you  pas- 
sionately. Gemma ! " 

She  cast  a  sidelong,  momentary  glance  at  him 
— and  again  came  near  dropping  her  parasol. 

"  Beheve  me,  believe  me,"— he  reiterated.  He 
implored  her,  stretched  out  his  hands  to  her— and 
dared  not  touch  her.  "What  did  you  wish  to 
have  me  do,  to  convince  you? " 

Again  she  darted  a  glance  at  him. 

"Tell  me.  Monsieur  Dimitri,"— she  began: — 
"day  before  yesterday,  when  you  came  to  per- 
suade me,— you,  of  course,  did  not  yet  know  .... 
did  not  feel  .  .  .  .  " 

"I  did  feel,"— interpolated  Sanin,— "but  I 
did  not  know.  I  fell  in  love  with  you  the  very 
moment  I  beheld  you,— but  did  not  immediately 
understand  what  you  had  become  for  me !  More- 
over, I  heard  that  you  were  a  betrothed  bride. 
...  As  for  your  mother's  commission— in  the 
first  place,  how  could  I  refuse?  and,  in  the  second 
place,— I  think  I  transmitted  my  message  to  you 
in  such  a  way  that  you  might  have  guessed.  ..." 

Heavy  footsteps  became  audible,  and  a  de- 
cidedly corpulent  gentleman,  with  a  travelling- 
bag  slung  across  his  shoulder,  a  foreigner,  evi- 
dently, stepped  forth  from  behind  the  clump  of 
lilacs — and  with  the  unceremoniousness  of  a 
chance  traveller,  surveyed  with  his  glance  the 
young  pair  who  were  sitting  on  the  bench, 
coughed  loudly— and  went  his  way. 

125 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  Your  mother,"— began  Sanin,  as  soon  as  the 
clumping  of  the  heavy  feet  had  died  away,— 
"told  me  that  your  refusal  would  produce  a 
scandal"  (Gemma  frowned  slightly);  "that  I, 
myself,  had,  in  part,  given  rise  to  unfavourable 
comments,  and  that,  consequently  ....  conse- 
quently .  .  .  upon  me— in  a  certain  degree— de- 
volved the  obligation  of  telling  you  not  to  dismiss 
your  betrothed,  Herr  Kliiber.  ..." 

"Monsieur  Dimitri,"  said  Gemma,  passing 
her  hand  over  her  hair,  on  the  side  turned  to 
Sanin:— "please  do  not  call  Herr  Kliiber  my 
betrothed.  I  shall  never  be  his  bride.  I  have  dis- 
missed him." 

"  You  have  dismissed  him?    When? " 
!      "  Yesterday." 

"In  person?" 

"  Yes.    At  our  house.    He  came  to  us." 

"  Gemma!    That  means  that  you  love  me? " 

She  turned  toward  him. 

"Had  it  been  otherwise  ....  would  I  have 
come  hither?"  she  whispered— and  both  her 
hands  fell  upon  the  bench. 

Sanin  seized  those  hands,  which  lay  helplessly, 
with  the  palms  upturned,  in  his  own,— pressed 
them  to  his  eyes,  to  his  lips.  .  .  .  Then  the  veil 
which  had  appeared  before  him  in  his  vision  of 
the  day  before  was  lifted!  Here  it  was,  happi- 
ness, here  was  its  radiant  face! 

He  raised  his  head— and  looked  at  Gemma-- 

126 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

straightly  and  boldly.  She  also  looked  at  him— 
somewhat  downward,  from  above.  The  gaze  of 
her  half-opened  eyes  glimmered  dimly,  bathed  in 
Hght,  blissful  tears.  But  her  face  was  not  smiling 
....  no!  it  laughed,  also  with  a  blissful  though 
noiseless  laugh. 

He  tried  to  draw  her  to  his  breast,  but  she  re- 
sisted, and  without  ceasing  to  laugh  with  the  same 
noiseless  laugh,  she  shook  her  head  in  negation. 
"  Wait,"  her  happy  eyes  seemed  to  say. 

"Oh,  Gemma!"— cried  Sanin:  "could  I  have 
dreamed  that  thou—"  (his  heart  trembled  within 
him,  when  his  lips  uttered,  for  the  first  time,  this 
"  thou  ")  —  "  that  thou  wouldst  love  me? " 

"I  did  not  expect  it  myself,"— said  Gemma 
softly. 

"Could  I  imagine,"— pursued  Sanin,— "could 
I  imagine,  when  approaching  Frankfurt,  where 
I  intended  to  remain  only  a  few  hours,  that  I 
would  find  here  the  happiness  of  my  whole  life? " 

"Of  your  whole  life?  Really?"  -  asked 
Gemma. 

"Of  my  whole  life,  forever  and  forever!" — 
exclaimed  Sanin  with  fresh  impetuosity. 

The  gardener's  shovel  suddenly  began  to 
scrape  a  couple  of  paces  from  the  bench  on  which 
they  were  sitting. 

"Let  us  go  home"— whispered  Gemma.— 
"Let  us  go  together — wilt  thou?" 

If   she   had   said    to   him,    at    that    moment: 

127 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"Fling  thyself  into  the  sea— wilt  thou?"— he 
would  have  flown  headlong  into  the  gulf,  before 
she  had  uttered  the  last  word. 

Together  they  left  the  park,  and  wended  their 
way  homeward,  not  through  the  city  streets,  but 
by  way  of  the  suburbs. 

XXVIII 

Sanin  walked  on,  now  by  Gemma's  side,  now  a 
little  behind  her,  never  taking  his  eyes  from  her, 
and  never  ceasing  to  smile.  And  she  seemed  to 
be  hurrying  onward  ....  yet  appeared  also  to 
be  pausing.  To  tell  the  truth,  both  of  them— he 
all  pale,  she  all  rosy  with  emotion,— moved  for- 
ward like  persons  befogged.  That  which  they 
had  done  together  a  few  moments  before— that 
surrender  of  each  soul  to  the  other, — was  so 
mighty  and  so  new  and  dread  a  thing ;  everything 
in  their  lives  had  so  suddenly  come  to  a  standstill, 
had  undergone  a  change,  that  they  could  not  re- 
cover themselves,  and  were  merely  conscious  of 
the  whirlwind  which  had  caught  them  up  in  its 
grasp,  like  that  nocturnal  whirlwind  which  had 
almost  hurled  them  into  each  other's  embrace. 
Sanin  walked  along— and  felt  that  he  was  even 
regarding  Gemma  in  a  different  light:  every  mo- 
ment he  descried  several  peculiarities  in  her  walk, 
in  her  movements,— and,  great  heavens!  how 
inimitably  dear  and  charming  they  were  to  him  I 

128 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

And  she  was  conscious  that  he  was  gazing  at  her 
thus. 

Sanin  and  she  loved  for  the  first  time,  all  the 
marvels  of  first  love  were  accomplished  in  them. 
First  love  is — a  revolution:  the  monotonously- 
regular  course  of  life  which  has  established  itself 
is  broken  and  shattered  in  one  instant,  and  youth 
stands  at  the  barricade,  its  flaunting  standard 
waves  high  in  air,— and  whatever  may  be  in  store 
for  it  ahead— death  or  new  life — it  wafts  to  all 
its  rapturous  greeting. 

"  What  is  this?  Can  it  be  our  old  man?  "—said 
Sanin,  pointing  at  a  muffled  figure,  which  was 
making  its  way  hurriedly  along  on  one  side,  as 
though  endeavouring  to  remain  unperceived.  In 
the  midst  of  his  superabundance  of  bliss,  he  felt 
impelled  to  talk  to  Gemma— not  about  love— that 
was  a  settled,  a  sacred  thing, — but  about  some- 
thing or  other  different. 

"Yes,  that  is  Pantaleone,"— replied  Gemma 
merrily  and  happily.  *'  He  certainly  must  have 
followed  on  my  heels  out  of  the  house;  all  day 
yesterday,  he  watched  every  step  I  took.  .  .  .  He 
guesses  the  truth ! " 

"  He  guesses  the  truth! " — repeated  Sanin  rap- 
turously.—What  could  Gemma  say  over  which 
he  would  not  go  into  raptures! 

Then  he  begged  her  to  narrate  to  him,  in  detail, 
everything  which  had  taken  place  on  the  preced- 
ing day. 

129 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

And  she  immediately  began  to  relate,  hurry- 
ing, entangling  herself,  smiling,  heaving  little 
sighs,  and  exchanging  brief,  brilHant  glances 
with  Sanin.  She  told  him  how,  after  the  con- 
versation of  two  days  previously,  her  mamma  had 
persistently  endeavoured  to  get  out  of  her, 
Gemma,  something  definite :  how  she  had  rid  her- 
self of  Frau  Lenore,  by  promising  to  inform  her 
of  her  decision  within  twenty-four  hours ;  how  she 
had  secured  that  much  time— and  how  diffi- 
cult it  had  been:  how  Herr  Kliiber  had  made 
his  appearance  quite  unexpectedly,  more  con- 
ceited and  starched  than  ever:  how  he  had  ex- 
pressed his  displeasure  at  the  boyishly-unpar- 
donable, and  for  him,  Kliiber,  deeply-insulting 
(that  was  his  precise  expression)  sally  of  the 
Russian  stranger— "he  meant  thy  duel"— and 
how  he  had  demanded  that  thou  shouldst  im- 
mediately be  forbidden  the  house.  "  Because," — 
he  added— and  here  Gemma  lightly  imitated  his 
voice  and  manner, — "it  casts  a  shadow  on  my 
honour :  as  though  I  could  not  have  protected  my 
betrothed,  had  I  regarded  that  as  either  indis- 
pensable or  useful!  All  Frankfurt  will  learn 
to-morrow  that  a  stranger  has  fought  with  an 
officer  on  account  of  my  betrothed — who  ever 
heard  of  such  a  thing?  It  sullies  my  honour!" 
"Mamma  agreed  with  him— just  imagine!— but 
at  this  point  I  suddenly  informed  him  that  there 
was  no  need  for  his  worrying  about  his  honour  and 

130 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

his  person,  there  was  no  need  for  him  to  feel  in- 
sulted by  gossip  about  his  betrothed,  because  I 
was  no  longer  his  betrothed,  and  would  never  be 
his  wife!  I  must  confess  that  I  would  have 
liked  first  to  have  a  talk  with  you  ....  with 
thee,  before  definitively  dismissing  him;  but  he 
came  .  .  .  and  I  could  not  restrain  myself. 
Mamma  even  shrieked  with  fright,  and  I  went 
into  the  other  room  and  brought  him  his  ring— 
thou  didst  not  notice,  I  had  already  taken  off  that 
ring  two  days  ago — and  gave  it  to  him.  He  was 
frightfully  offended ;  but  as  he  is  frightfully  ego- 
tistical and  conceited,  he  did  not  say  much  and 
took  himself  off.  Of  course,  I  had  to  endure  a 
great  deal  from  mamma,  and  it  pained  me  greatly 
to  see  how  grieved  she  was — and  I  thought  that 
I  had  been  in  a  little  too  much  of  a  hurry,  but, 
you  see,  I  had  thy  note — and  even  without  that, 
I  already  knew  .  .  .  .  " 

"  That  I  loved  thee,"— put  in  Sanin. 

"  Yes  ....  that  thou  lovedst  me." 

Thus  spoke  Gemma,  faltering  and  smiling, 
and  lowering  her  head,  or  relapsing  altogether 
into  silence,  every  time  that  any  one  came  toward 
her,  or  passed  her.  And  Sanin  listened  ecstati- 
cally, enjoying  the  very  sound  of  her  voice,  as,  on 
the  day  before,  he  had  admired  her  handwriting. 

"  JNIamma  is  extremely  grieved,"  —  began 
Gemma  again — and  her  words  followed  one  an- 
other very,   very  swiftly:— "she   absolutely   re- 

131 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

fuses  to  take  into  consideration  the  fact  that 
Herr  Kliiber  might  be  repulsive  to  me,  that  I  was 
not  marrying  him  for  love — but  in  consequence 
of  her  earnest  entreaties.  .  .  .  She  suspects  you 
....  thee ;  that  is  to  say,  to  speak  in  plain  terms, 
she  is  convinced  that  I  have  fallen  in  love  with 
thee,— and  this  is  all  the  more  painful  to  her,  that 
such  a  thing  had  never  even  entered  her  head  day 
before  yesterday,  and  she  even  commissioned  thee 
to  reason  with  me.  .  .  .  And  a  strange  commis- 
sion it  was— wasn't  it?  Now  she  calls  thee  .... 
you,  a  sly  dog,  a  crafty  man,  says  that  you  have 
betrayed  her  trust,  and  predicts  that  you  will  de- 
ceive me  also  .  .  .  .  " 

"But,  Gemma,"— exclaimed  Sanin,— "didst 
not  thou  tell  her.  .  .  ." 

"  I  have  told  her  nothing!  What  right  had  I, 
without  having  talked  with  you? " 

Sanin  clasped  his  hands. — "Gemma,  I  hope 
that  now,  at  least,  thou  wilt  confess  all  to  her, 
thou  wilt  take  me  to  her.  ...  I  want  to  prove  to 
thy  mother  that  I  am  not  a  deceiver! " 

Sanin's  breast  fairly  heaved  with  a  flood  of 
magnanimous  and  fervent  emotions. 

Gemma  stared  at  him  with  all  her  eyes. — "Do 
you  really  want  to  go  to  mamma  now,  with  me? 
to  mamma,  who  asserts  that  .  .  .  that  every- 
thing is  impossible  between  us,— and  nothing  will 
ever  come  of  it?" — There  was  one  word  which 
Gemma  could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  utter.  .  . 

132 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

It  burned  her  lips;  but  Sanin  uttered  it  all  the 
more  willingly. 

"I  know  no  higher  felicitj^  Gemma,  than  to 
marry  thee,  to  be  thy  husband! " 

He  no  longer  recognised  any  bounds  to  his 
love,  to  his  magnanimity,  nor  to  his  firmness. 

On  hearing  these  words,  Gemma,  who  had 
halted  for  a  moment,  proceeded  onward  more 
rapidly  than  ever.  .  .  .  She  seemed  to  wish  to 
flee  from  that  too-great  and  unexpected  happi- 
ness! 

But  all  at  once  her  limbs  gave  way  beneath 
her.  From  round  the  corner  of  a  lane,  a  few 
paces  distant  from  her,  in  a  new  hat  and  new 
short-coat,  straight  as  an  arrow,  curled  like  a 
poodle,  Herr  Kliiber  made  his  appearance.  He 
caught  sight  of  Gemma,  caught  sight  of  Sanin— 
gave  a  sort  of  internal  snort,  and  throwing  back 
his  supple  figure,  he  advanced  foppishly  to  meet 
them.  Sanin  writhed,  but  on  glancing  at  Klii- 
ber's  face,  to  which  its  owner  was  endeavouring, 
to  the  best  of  his  ability,  to  impart  an  expression 
of  scornful  surprise,  and  even  compassion,— on 
glancing  at  that  ruddy,  commonplace  face,  he 
suddenly  felt  a  flood  of  wrath— and  strode  for- 
ward. 

Gemma  grasped  his  arm,  and  with  calm  deci- 
sion giving  him  hers,  gazed  straight  into  the  face 
of  her  former  betrothed.  .  .  .  The  latter  screwed 
up  his  eyes,  shrank  together,  turned  to  one  side, 

133 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

—and,  muttering  between  his  teeth:  "The  usual 
ending  of  the  songl"—  (''Das  alte  Ende  vom 
Liedel") — retreated,  with  the  same  dandified, 
shghtly  springy  gait  as  usual. 

"  What  was  that  he  said,  the  rascal!  "—inquired 
Sanin,  and  tried  to  rush  after  Kliiber;  but 
Gemma  held  him  back,  and  walked  on  with  him, 
still  without  withdrawing  her  arm,  which  w^as 
thrust  through  his. 

The  Roselli  confectionery  shop  appeared 
ahead.     Once  more  Gemma  halted. 

"Dimitri,  Monsieur  Dimitri," — said  she:  "we 
have  not  yet  entered  yonder  house,  we  have  not 
yet  seen  mamma.  ...  If  you  still  wish  to  re- 
flect, if  .  .  .  vou  are  still  free,  Dimitri ! " 

In  reply,  Sanin  pressed  her  arm  very,  very 
firmly  to  his  breast— and  led  her  forward. 

"Mamma," — said  Gemma,  entering  with  Sa- 
nin the  room  where  sat  Frau  Lenore, — "  I  have 
brought  the  real  one ! " 

XXIX 

Had  Gemma  announced  that  she  had  brought 
the  cholera,  or  even  death  itself  with  her,  Frau 
Lenore  could  not,  we  are  free  to  assume,  have  re- 
ceived the  news  with  any  greater  despair.  She 
immediately  seated  herself  in  a  corner,  with  her 
face  to  the  wall, — and  burst  into  tears,  almost 
wailed,   precisely  as   a  Russian   peasant-woman 

134 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

does  over  the  coffin  of  her  husband  or  her  son.  At 
first,  Gemma  was  so  disconcerted  that  she  did  not 
even  approach  her  mother— and  stood  Hke  a 
statue,  in  the  middle  of  the  room ;  and  Sanin  was 
thrown  into  utter  confusion,— ahnost  to  the  point 
of  launching  into  tears  himself!  This  inconsol- 
able weeping  lasted  for  a  whole  hour:  a  whole 
hour!  Pantaleone  deemed  it  best  to  lock  the 
outer  door  of  the  shop,  in  order  that  no  stranger 
might  enter— although  the  hour  was  early.  The 
old  man  was  puzzled— and,  at  any  rate,  did  not 
approve  of  the  haste  with  which  Gemma  and 
Sanin  had  acted ;  however,  he  could  not  make  up 
his  mind  to  condemn  them,  and  was  ready  to  ac- 
cord them  his  protection— in  case  of  need;  he  had 
greatly  disliked  Herr  Kliiber!  Emile  regarded 
himself  as  the  intermediary  between  his  friend 
and  his  sister — and  was  almost  proud  that  every- 
thing had  turned  out  so  splendidly !  He  was  not 
in  the  least  able  to  understand  why  Frau  Lenore 
was  grieving  so  violently,  and  in  his  heart  he  de- 
cided on  the  spot  that  women,  even  the  best  of 
them,  suffer  from  a  deficiencj^  of  intellectual  ca- 
pacity! Sanin  fared  worse  than  all  the  rest. 
Frau  Lenore  raised  a  howl,  and  flourished  her 
arms  violently,  as  soon  as  he  came  near  her — and 
in  vain  did  he  strive,  as  he  stood  at  a  distance,  to 
exclaim  loudly,  several  times:  "I  ask  your 
daughter's  hand!"  Frau  Lenore  was  especially 
vexed  at  herself,  because:  "how  could  she  have 

135 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

been  so  blind — and  seen  nothing!" — "If  my 
Giovan'  Battista  had  been  ahve," — she  kept  re- 
peating through  her  tears, — "  nothing  of  this  sort 
would  have  happened!" — "O  Lord,  what  is 
this?" — thought  Sanin — "why,  this  is  stupid,  I 
must  say! "  He  did  not  dare  to  look  at  Gemma, 
neither  could  she  bring  herself  to  raise  her  eyes 
to  his.  She  contented  herself  with  patiently  tend- 
ing her  mother,  who  at  first  repulsed  her.  .  .  . 

At  last,  little  by  httle,  the  storm  subsided. 
Frau  Lenore  ceased  to  weep,  permitted  Gemma 
to  lead  her  out  of  the  corner,  in  which  she  had  en- 
sconced herself,  seat  her  in  an  arm-chair  near  the 
window,  and  give  her  some  water  with  orange- 
flower  essence  to  drink;  she  permitted  Sanin — 
not  to  approach  .  .  .  oh,  no!— but,  at  least,  to 
remain  in  the  room — (she  had  previously  de- 
manded incessantly  that  he  should  withdraw)  — 
and  did  not  interrupt  him  while  he  was  talking. 
Sanin  immediately  availed  himself  of  the  calm 
which  had  set  in,— and  displayed  amazing  elo- 
quence: he  would  hardly  have  been  able  to  set 
forth  his  intentions  and  his  sentiments  to  Gemma 
herself  with  as  much  ardour  and  persuasive- 
ness. Those  sentiments  were  of  the  most  sin- 
cere description,  those  intentions  were  of  the  pur- 
est, as  in  the  case  of  Almaviva  in  "  The  Barber 
of  Seville."— He  did  not  conceal,  either  from 
Frau  Lenore  or  from  himself,  the  disadvanta- 
geous aspects  of  those  intentions;  but  the  disad- 

136 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

vantages  were  only  apparent!  It  is  true  that  he 
was  a  foreigner,  that  they  had  made  his  acquaint- 
ance only  a  short  time  before,  that  they  knew  no- 
thing definite  about  his  personality,  or  about  his 
means ;  but  he  was  ready  to  present  all  the  neces- 
sary credentials  to  prove  that  he  was  a  man  of 
good  standing,  and  not  a  poor  one;  he  would 
send  for  the  most  indubitable  testimonials  of  his 
fellow-countrymen!— He  hoped  that  Gemma 
would  be  happy  with  him,  and  that  he  would  be 
able  to  sweeten  her  separation  from  her  relatives  1 
.  .  .  At  the  mention  of  separation— that  one 
word  "  separation "  came  near  spoiling  the 
whole  business.  .  .  .  Frau  Lenore  trembled  all 
over,  and  began  to  throw  herself  about.  .  .  .  Sa- 
nin  hastened  to  remark  that  the  separation  would 
be  only  temporary — and  that,  after  all,  possibly — 
there  would  be  none  at  all ! 

Sanin's  eloquence  was  not  wasted.  Frau  Le- 
nore began  to  glance  at  him,  although  still  with 
bitterness  and  reproach,  yet  no  longer  with  her 
former  repulsion  and  wrath;  then  she  permitted 
him  to  approach,  and  even  to  sit  down  beside  her 
(Gemma  was  sitting  on  her  other  side)  ;  then  she 
began  to  upbraid  him — not  with  looks  alone,  but 
with  words,  which  denoted  a  certain  softening  of 
her  heart:  she  began  to  complain,  and  her  com- 
plaints grew  ever  more  quiet  and  gentle;  they 
alternated  with  questions,  addressed  sometimes 
to  her  daughter,  sometimes  to  Sanin;  then  she 

137 


SPRIXG  FRESHETS 

allowed  him  to  take  her  hand,  and  did  not  imme- 
diately withdraw  it  .  .  .  then  she  fell  to  weeping 
again — but  with  tears  of  an  entirely  different 
sort.  .  .  .  Then  she  smiled  sadly,  and  mourned 
the  absence  of  Giovan'  Battista,  but  in  another 
sense  than  previously.  .  .  .  Another  moment 
elapsed— and  the  two  culprits— Sanin  and 
Gemma — were  already  kneehng  at  her  feet,  and 
she  was  laying  her  hands  on  their  heads  by  turns ; 
yet  another  moment  elapsed — and  they  were  em- 
bracing and  kissing  her,  and  Emile,  his  face 
beaming  with  rapture,  ran  into  the  room,  and  also 
flung  himself  upon  the  closely-united  group. 

Pantaleone  looked  into  the  room,  grinned  and 
frowned  simultaneously, — and,  wending  his  way 
to  the  shop,  opened  the  outer  door. 

XXX 

The  transition  from  despair  to  sadness,  and 
from  that  to  "  quiet  resignation,"  was  accom- 
plished with  considerable  rapidity  in  Frau  Le- 
nore; — but  that  quiet  resignation,  in  its  turn, 
was  promptly  converted  into  secret  satisfaction, 
which,  nevertheless,  was  in  every  way  concealed 
and  repressed,  for  the  sake  of  propriety.  Frau 
Lenore  had  liked  Sanin  from  the  very  first  day 
of  their  acquaintance ;  having  accustomed  herself 
to  the  idea  of  his  being  her  son-in-law,  she  found 
nothing  especially  disagreeable  in  it,   although 

138 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

she  considered  it  her  duty  to  preserve  on  her  coun- 
tenance a  somewhat  offended  ....  or,  rather, 
worried  expression.  Moreover,  everything  which 
had  happened  during  the  last  few  days  had  been 
so  remarkable.  .  .  .  One  thing  after  another! 
As  a  practical  woman,  and  a  mother,  Frau  Le- 
nore  thought  it  her  duty  to  subject  Sanin  to  a 
varied  interrogatory:  and  Sanin,  who,  on  setting 
out  in  the  morning  for  his  tryst  with  Gemma,  had 
not  had  the  remotest  idea  of  marrying  her, — in 
truth,  he  had  thought  of  nothing  at  the  time,  and 
had  merely  surrendered  himself  to  the  prompt- 
ings of  his  passion — Sanin,  with  entire  readiness, 
and  even,  one  might  say,  with  zeal,  entered  into 
his  role  of  a  betrothed  bridegroom,  and  to  all  the 
questions  replied  circumstantially,  in  detail,  will- 
ingly. Having  convinced  herself  that  he  was  a 
genuine,  born  noble,  and  even  rather  surprised 
that  he  was  not  a  prince,  Frau  Lenore  assumed 
a  serious  mien  and  "warned  him  beforehand 
that  she  meant  to  be  quite  unceremoniously 
frank  with  him,  because  she  was  compelled 
thereto  by  her  sacred  obligations  as  a  mother! " — 
to  which  Sanin  replied  that  he  had  expected  no- 
thing else  from  her,  and  himself  earnestly  im- 
plored her  not  to  spare  him ! 

Then  Frau  Lenore  remarked  that  Herr  Klii- 
ber  (as  she  uttered  that  name,  she  sighed  a  little, 
compressed  her  lips,  and  stammered) — Herr 
Kliiber,  Gemma's  former  betrothed,  already  was 

139 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

m  receipt  of  an  income  of  eight  thousand  gul- 
dens— and  that,  with  every  year,  that  sum  would 
increase — and  what  was  his,  Sanin's  income? 

"Eight  thousand  guldens," — repeated  Sanin, 
in  a  drawl.  ..."  That  makes,  in  our  money, 
about  fifteen  thousand  rubles.  .  .  .  My  income 
is  much  less.  I  have  a  small  estate  in  the  govern- 
ment of  Tula.  ...  If  the  farming  is  well  man- 
aged, it  may  yield — and  even  ought,  without  fail, 
to  yield,  five  or  six  thousand.  .  .  .  Yes,  and  if  I 
enter  the  service — I  may  easily  receive  a  salary 
of  two  thousand  rubles." 

"  The  service,  in  Russia? "  exclaimed  Frau  Le- 
nore.  "  That  means  that  I  shall  have  to  part 
with  Gemma!" 

"  I  may  get  myself  assigned  to  the  diplomatic 
corps!" — interposed  Sanin;  "I  have  several  in- 
fluential connections.  .  .  .  Then  the  service  is 
discharged  abroad.  If  not,  here  is  another  thing 
which  can  be  done— and  this  is  far  the  best  of  all: 
sell  my  estate,  and  use  the  resulting  capital  in 
some  profitable  undertaking — for  instance,  for  the 
development  of  your  confectionery  business." — 
Sanin  was,  to  tell  the  truth,  conscious  that  he  was 
saying  something  rather  absurd,  but  an  incom- 
prehensible audacity  held  possession  of  him !  He 
would  glance  at  Gemma,  who,  from  the  moment 
the  "  practical "  discussion  began,  had  kept  ris- 
ing, walking  about  the  room,  seating  herself 
again,— he  would  glance  at  her— and  then  no  ob- 

140 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

stacle  existed  for  him,  and  he  was  ready  to  ar- 
range everything,  instantly,  in  the  best  manner 
possible — if  only  she  were  not  disquieted! 

"  Herr  Kliiber  also  wished  to  give  me  a  small 
sum  for  repairing  the  shop,"  said  Frau  Lenore, 
after  a  brief  hesitation. 

"Mother!  for  God's  sake,  mother!"— cried 
Gemma,  in  Italian. 

"We  must  discuss  these  matters  betimes,  my 
daughter," — Frau  Lenore  answered  her,  in  the 
same  language. 

Again  she  turned  to  Sanin,  and  began  to  ques- 
tion him  as  to  what  laws  exist  in  Russia  concern- 
ing marriage,  and  whether  there  were  any  obsta- 
cles to  the  union  with  Roman  CathoHcs — as 
there  were  in  Prussia?—  (At  that  time— in  the 
'40's,— all  Germany  still  recalled  the  quarrel  be- 
tween the  Prussian  government  and  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Cologne,  on  the  point  of  mixed  mar- 
riages.)—But  when  Frau  Lenore  learned  that, 
by  marrying  a  noble,  her  daughter  herself  would 
become  a  gentlewoman— she  manifested  some 
satisfaction.— "But,  of  course,  you  must  first  go 
to  Russia?" 

"Why?" 

"But  why  not?  To  receive  permission  from 
your  emperor?" 

Sanin  explained  to  her  that  that  was  not  in 
the  least  necessary  ....  but  that,  perhaps,  he 
really  would  have  to  go  to  Russia  for  a  short  time 

141 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

before  the  wedding—  (as  he  uttered  these  words, 
his  heart  contracted  within  him,— Gemma,  who 
was  looking  at  him,  understood  that  it  contracted 
—and  flushed  crimson,  and  became  thoughtful) 
—and  that  he  would  try  to  take  advantage  of  his 
stay  in  his  native  land  to  sell  his  estate  ....  in 
any  case,  he  would  bring  thence  the  necessary 
money. 

"  I  should  also  like  to  ask  you  to  bring  me 
some  good  Astrakhan  lambskins,  for  a  cloak," 
—said  Frau  Lenore.  "  I  hear  that  they  are 
wonderfully  fine  there,  and  wonderfully 
cheap ! " 

"  I  certainly  will  bring  you  some— with  the 
greatest  pleasure!— and  Gemma  also!"— ex- 
claimed Sanin. 

"And  me  a  morocco  cap,  embroidered  in  sil- 
ver,"—interposed  Emile,  thrusting  in  his  head 
from  the  adjoining  room. 

"Very  well,— I  will  .  .  .  and  some  slippers 
for  Pantaleone." 

"Come,  why  so?  why?"— remarked  Frau  Le- 
nore. "  We  are  talking  about  serious  things  now. 
But  here  is  another  point,"— added  the  practical 
lady.  "  You  say  you  will  sell  your  estate.  But 
how  will  you  do  that?  Does  that  mean  that  you 
will  sell  the  peasants  also?" 

Sanin  felt  as  though  he  had  been  stabbed  in  the 
ribs.  He  remembered  that,  in  talking  with  Sig- 
nora  Roselh  and  her  daughter  about  the  serf- 

142 


SPRIXG  FRESHETS 

law,  which,  according  to  his  assertions,  roused  in 
him  profound  indignation,  he  had  repeatedly  as- 
sured them  that  he  would  never  sell  his  serfs  on 
any  terms  whatever,  because  he  regarded  such 
sale  as  an  immoral  act. 

"  I  shall  endeavour  to  sell  my  estate  to  a  man 
whom  I  shall  know  under  a  favourable  aspect," — 
he  articulated,  not  without  hesitation — "or, 
perhaps,  the  peasants  themselves  will  like  to 
buy  it." 

"That  is  the  best  of  all," — assented  Frau  Le- 
nore.  "If  not,  to  sell  live  people  .  .  .  ."  " Bar- 
hari!"  growled  Pantaleone,  who,  following 
Emile's  example,  had  made  his  appearance  in  the 
doorway,  shook  his  top-knot,  and  vanished. 

"It's  a  bad  business!" — thought  Sanin  to 
himself — and  shot  a  stealthy  glance  at  Gemma. 
She  did  not  appear  to  have  heard  his  last  words. 
"  Well,  never  mind!  "  he  thought  again. 

In  this  wise  did  the  practical  conversation  con- 
tinue almost  until  dinner-time.  Frau  Lenore 
grew  entirely  tame  toward  the  last— and  had  al- 
ready begun  to  call  Sanin  "  Dmitry,"  shook  her 
finger  affectionately  at  him,  and  promised  to 
avenge  herself  for  his  craftiness.  She  asked  a 
great  many  and  minute  questions  about  his  native 
land,  because  "  that,  also,  is  very  important," — 
demanded,  also,  that  he  should  describe  to  her  the 
marriage  ceremony,  as  the  rite  was  celebrated  in 
the  Russian  Church,  and  went  into  raptures  in 

143 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

advance  over  Gemma  in  a  white  gown,  with  a 
golden  crown  on  her  head.^ 

"For  my  child  is  as  beautiful  as  a  queen," — 
she  said,  with  maternal  pride ;  "  and  there  are  no 
such  kings  in  the  world ! " 

"There  is  no  other  Gemma  in  the  world!" — 
chimed  in  Sanin. 

"Yes;  that  is  why  she  is— Gemma!"  (Every 
one  knows  that,  in  the  Italian  language.  Gemma 
signifies  "a  precious  stone— a  jewel.") 

Gemma  flew  to  kiss  her  mother.  ...  It  seemed 
as  though  only  now  had  she  begun  to  breathe 
freely— and  the  burden  which  oppressed  her  had 
fallen  from  her  soul. 

And  Sanin,  all  of  a  sudden,  felt  so  happy,  such 
a  childhke  merriment  filled  his  soul,  because,  lo,  it 
had  come  to  pass,  those  dreams  to  which  he  had 
surrendered  himself,  in  those  same  rooms,  had 
come  to  pass;  his  whole  being  leaped  for  joy  to 
such  a  degree  that  he  immediately  betook  himself 
to  the  shop ;  he  was  irrevocably  bent  upon  serving 
behind  the  counter,  at  whatever  cost,  as  he  had 
done  several  days  previously.  .  .  .  As  much  as 
to  say:  "  I  have  a  full  right  to  do  it  now!  for  I  'm 
a  domestic  man  now! " 

And  he  really  did  stand  behind  the  counter, 
and  really  did  trade,  that  is  to  say,  he  sold  to  two 
little  girls  who  entered  a  pound  of  candy,  instead 

1  Golden  (gilded)  crowns  are  held  over  the  heads  of  the  bride 
and  groom  during  the  marriage  ceremony  proper,  which  is  called 
"  crowning." — Translator. 

144 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

of  which  he  dealt  them  out  at  least  two  pounds, 
and  took  only  half  price  from  them.  At  dinner, 
as  a  betrothed  bridegroom,  he  officially  occupied 
a  seat  next  to  Gemma.  Frau  Lenore  pursued 
her  practical  calculations.  Emile  did  nothing 
but  laugh,  and  tease  Sanin  to  take  him  to  Russia 
with  him.  It  was  decided  that  Sanin  should 
set  off  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight.  Pantaleone 
alone  presented  a  rather  surly  aspect,  so  that 
even  Frau  Lenore  upbraided  him. — "And  yet 
thou  wert  his  second!"— Pantaleone  looked 
askance. 

Gemma  maintained  silence  nearly  all  the  time, 
but  never  had  her  face  been  brighter  or  more 
beautiful.  After  dinner,  she  called  Sanin  apart 
into  the  garden  for  a  moment,  and  halting  beside 
the  bench  on  which  she  had  been  sorting  cherries 
two  days  before,  she  said  to  him:— "Do  not  be 
angry  with  me,  Dimitri;  but  I  wish  to  remind 
thee,  once  more,  that  thou  must  not  consider 
thyself  bound.  ..." 

He  did  not  allow  her  to  finish  her  sentence.  .  .  . 

Gemma  turned  aside  her  face.— "And  as  for 
what  mamma  alluded  to— thou  rememberest?— 
the  difference  of  our  religious  creeds,  so  much  for 
that!"  .... 

She  seized  a  small  garnet  cross,  which  hung  on 
her  neck  upon  a  slender  cord,  gave  a  violent 
wrench,  and  broke  the  cord— and  gave  him  the 
cross. 

145 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"If  I  am  thine,  then  thy  faith  is  my  faith 
also!" 

Sanin's  eyes  were  still  wet  when  he  and  Gemma 
returned  to  the  house. 

By  the  evening,  everything  had  got  into  its 
wonted  routine.    They  even  played  tresette. 

XXXI 

Sanin  woke  very  early  on  the  following  day. 
He  found  himself  on  the  very  apex  of  human 
felicity;  but  that  had  not  prevented  his  sleeping; 
the  question,  the  vital,  fatal  question:  how  he 
should  sell  his  estate  as  speedily  as  possible,  and 
on  the  most  profitable  terms — disturbed  his  rest. 
Different  plans  crossed  in  his  head,  but  as  yet 
nothing  had  made  itself  clear.  He  left  the  house 
to  get  some  air,  to  freshen  himself.  He  wished 
to  present  himself  to  Gemma  with  a  project  al- 
ready prepared — not  otherwise. 

What  figure  was  that,  decidedly  heavy  and 
thick-legged,  but  neatly  clad,  walking  in  front  of 
him,  swaying  slightly  from  side  to  side  and  limp- 
ing? Where  had  he  seen  that  nape,  overgrown 
with  tumbled  masses  of  fair  hair,  that  head,  which 
seemed  to  be  set  directly  on  the  shoulders,  that 
soft,  fat  back,  those  plump,  dangling  arms? 
Could  it  be— Polozoff,  his  old  boarding-school 
comrade,  whom  he  had  lost  sight  of  for  the  last 
five  years?    Sanin  overtook  the  figure  which  was 

146 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

walking  in  front  of  him,  and  turned  round.  .  .  . 
A  broad,  sallow  face,  tiny,  pig-like  blue  eyes  with 
white  lashes  and  brows,  a  round,  beardless  chin— 
and  that  expression  of  the  whole  face,  indolent 
and  distrustful— yes,  in  point  of  fact,  it  was  he, 
Ippolit  PolozofiF . 

"Is  my  star  acting  again?"— flashed  through 
Sanin's  thoughts. 

"Polozoff!  Ippolit  Sidorovitch!    Is  it  thou?" 

The  figure  halted,  lifted  its  tiny  eyes,  waited  a 
little,  and  unsealing  its  lips  at  last,  said  in  a  hoarse 
falsetto : 

"Dmitry  Sanin?" 

"The  very  same!"— cried  Sanin,  and  shook 
one  of  Polozoff's  hands;  clad  in  tight  glace 
gloves,  of  an  ash-grey  hue,  they  hung,  as  before, 
Hfeless  down  his  fat  hips.—"  Hast  thou  been  here 
long?  Whence  camest  thou?  Where  art  thou 
staying?" 

"  I  came  yesterday,  from  Wiesbaden," — re- 
plied PolozofF  without  haste,— "to  make  pur- 
chases for  my  wife— and  am  returning  to  Wies- 
baden to-day." 

"  Akh,  yes!  thou  art  married — and,  so  I  hear, 
to  such  a  beauty!" 

Polozoff  turned  his  eyes  away. — "  Yes,  so  they 
say." 

Sanin  burst  out  laughing. — "I  see  that  thou 
art  still  the  same  ....  phlegmatic  fellow  as  thou 
wert  at  school." 

147 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  Why  should  I  change? " 

"And  they  say,"— added  Sanin,  with  special 
emphasis  on  the  word  "say,"— "that  thy  wife  is 
very  wealthy." 

"  They  do  say  that  also." 

"And  can  it  be  that  thou  dost  not  know  that 
thyself,  Ippolit  Sidoritch?" 

"I,  brother  Dmitry  ....  Pavlovitch?— yes, 
Pavlovitch!  don't  meddle  with  my  wife's  af- 
fairs." 

"Thou  dost  not  meddle?  Not  with  any  af- 
fairs?" 

Again  PolozoiF  turned  away  his  eyes. — "Not 
with  any,  my  dear  fellow.  She — goes  her  way 
....  well,  and  I  go  mine." 

"Whither  art  thou  bound  now?"— inquired 
Sanin. 

"Nowhere,  just  at  present;  I'm  standing  in 
the  street— and  talking  with  thee;  but  when  we 
get  through,  I  shall  go  to  a  hotel— and  break- 
fast." 

"  With  me  as  company— wilt  thou? " 

"  That  is — thou  art  referring  to  breakfast? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Pray  do,  it  will  be  much  jollier  to  eat  to- 
gether.   Thou  art  not  a  chatterer,  I  believe? " 

"  I  don't  think  so." 

"  Well,  all  right  then." 

Polozoff  moved  on.  Sanin  walked  beside  him. 
And  it  occurred  to  Sanin — PolozofF's  Hps  were 

148 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

sealed  once  more,  he  puffed  and  waddled  on  in 
silence — it  occurred  to  Sanin:  how  had  that  booby 
managed  to  hook  a  rich  and  beautiful  wife?  He 
himself  was  neither  wealthy,  nor  distinguished, 
nor  clever:  in  school  he  had  borne  the  reputation 
of  an  indolent  and  stupid  boy,  and  for  his  sleepi- 
ness and  gluttony  had  borne  the  nickname  of 
" the  slobberer."    Amazing! 

"But  if  his  wife  is  very  rich — they  say  she  is 
the  daughter  of  some  contractor — would  n't 
she  buy  my  estate?  Although  he  says  that  he 
does  not  meddle  with  any  of  his  wife's  affairs, 
it  is  impossible  to  believe  that!  Moreover, 
I  will  name  a  moderate,  advantageous  price! 
Why  not  make  the  effort?  Perhaps  this  is 
still  my  star  in  the  ascendant.  .  .  .  Done! 
I '11  try!" 

Polozoff  conducted  Sanin  to  one  of  the  best 
hotels  in  Frankfurt,  in  which,  of  course,  he  al- 
ready occupied  the  best  room.  The  tables  and 
chairs  were  loaded  down  with  bandboxes,  boxes, 
bundles.  .  .  .  "All  purchases  for  Marya  Niko- 
laevna,  my  dear  fellow! "  (IppoHt  Sidorovitch's 
wife  was  named  Marya  Nikolaevna.)  Polozoff 
sank  into  an  easy-chair,  groaned:  "  Ekh,  how  hot 
it  is!"  and  untied  his  neckcloth.  Then  he  rang 
for  the  head-waiter,  and  carefully  ordered  an 
extremely  abundant  breakfast.  "  And  let  the 
carriage  be  ready  in  an  hour!  Do  you  hear,  in 
precisely  an  hour!" 

149 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

The  head-waiter  bowed  obsequiously — and 
withdrew  in  slavish  fashion. 

PolozofF  unbuttoned  his  waistcoat.  From  the 
way  in  which  he  elevated  his  eyebrows,  panted 
and  wrinkled  his  nose,  it  could  be  seen  that  talk- 
ing would  be  a  great  burden  to  him,  and  that  he 
was  waiting,  with  some  trepidation,  to  see 
whether  Sanin  would  force  him  to  wag  his 
tongue,  or  would  take  upon  himself  the  trouble 
of  carrying  on  the  conversation. 

Sanin  understood  his  friend's  frame  of  mind, 
and  consequently  did  not  burden  him  with  ques- 
tions; he  confined  himself  to  the  most  indispen- 
sable; he  learned  that  he  had  been  in  the  service 
for  two  years  already —  ("in  the  Uhlans!  just  so; 
he  must  look  well,  I  should  think,  in  that  bob- 
tailed  uniform!")  —had  married  three  years  pre- 
viously,— and  this  was  the  second  year  he  had 
been  abroad  with  his  wife,  "  who  was  now  taking 
a  cure  for  something  or  other  in  Wiesbaden  " — 
and  then  would  set  out  for  Paris.  Sanin,  on  his 
side,  enlarged  as  little  on  his  past  life  as  on  his 
plans;  he  went  straight  to  the  principal  point — 
that  is,  he  began  to  talk  about  his  intention  to 
sell  his  estate. 

Polozoif  listened  to  him  in  silence,  only  cast- 
ing a  glance,  from  time  to  time,  at  the  door, 
whence  breakfast  must  make  its  appearance.  At 
last    the    breakfast    did    make    its    appearance. 

150 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

The  head-waiter,  accompanied  by  two  other 
servants,  brought  in  several  dishes  under  silver 
covers. 

"  Is  the  estate  in  the  Tula  government?  "—said 
PolozofF,  as  he  seated  himself  at  the  table,  and 
tucked  a  napkin  into  the  collar  of  his  shirt. 

"  Yes." 

"  In  the  Efrem  district.  ...  I  know." 

"Dost  thou  know  my  Alexyeevko?"  asked 
Sanin,  as  he  also  seated  himself  at  the  table. 

"Yes,  of  course  I  do."— PolozofF  stuffed  a 
morsel  of  omelet  with  truffles  into  his  mouth.— 
"  Mary  a  Nikolaevna— my  wife— has  an  estate  in 
the  neighbourhood  ....  uncork  that  bottle, 
waiter!  The  soil  is  fairly  good— onty,  the  peas- 
ants have  felled  thy  forest.  And  why  art  thou 
selling  it?" 

"  I  need  the  money,  mv  dear  fellow.  I  would 
sell  it  cheap.  Thou  hadst  better  buy  it  .  .  .  by 
the  way." 

PolozofF  gulped  down  a  glass  of  wine,  wiped 
his  mouth  with  his  napkin  and  again  set  to  chew- 
ing—slowly and  noisily. 

"  H'm— yes,"— he  said  at  last.  "  I  'm  not  buy- 
ing estates:  I  have  no  capital.  Pass  the  butter. 
Perhaps  my  wife  will  buy  it.  Do  thou  talk  it 
over  with  her.  If  thou  dost  not  ask  a  great  price 
—she  does  not  disdain  that  sort  of  thing.  .  .  . 
But  what  asses  these  Germans  are!    They  don't 

151 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

know  how  to  boil  fish.  What  could  be  simpler, 
apparently?  And  yet  they  say:  'The  Vaterland 
must  be  united ! '  Waiter,  take  away  this  abomi- 
nation!" 

"Does  thy  wife  really  manage  the  property 
herself?"  inquired  Sanin. 

"  Yes.  Here,  these  cutlets  are  good.  I  recom- 
mend them.  I  have  already  told  thee,  Dmitry 
Pavlovitch,  that  I  don't  meddle  with  any  of  my 
wife's  affairs— and  now  I  tell  it  to  thee  again." 

Polozoff  continued  to  munch. 

"  H'm.  .  .  .  But  how  can  I  talk  it  over  with 
her,  Ippolit  Sidoritch?" 

"Why,  very  simply,  Dmitry  Pavlovitch.  Go 
to  Wiesbaden.  It 's  not  far  from  here.  Waiter, 
haven't  you  any  English  mustard?  No?  Beasts  1 
Only,  don't  lose  time.  We  are  leaving  the  day 
after  to-morrow.  Permit  me,  I  will  fill  your 
glass:  the  wine  has  a  bouquet — 't  is  not  sour 
stuff." 

Polozoff 's  face  had  grown  animated  and  crim- 
son; it  only  grew  animated  when  he  ate  ...  or 
drank. 

"  Really,  I  don't  know  how  I  can  do  that,"— 
muttered  Sanin. 

"But  why  are  you  in  such  a  hurry,  all  of  a 
sudden?" 

"  That 's  it  exactly,  my  dear  fellow,  I  'm  in  a 
hurry." 

"  And  is  a  large  sum  needed? " 

152 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"Yes.  I  .  .  .  how  shall  I  tell  thee!  I  am 
planning  ....  to  get  married." 

Polozoff  set  on  the  table  his  wine-glass,  which 
he  was  in  the  act  of  raising  to  his  lips. 

"  To  get  married? " — he  said,  in  a  hoarse  voice 
—hoarse  with  surprise,— laying  his  fat  hands  on 
his  belly. — "  In  such  haste? " 

"Yes  .  .  .  very  soon." 

"  The  bride  is  in  Russia,  of  course?" 

"  No,  she  is  not  in  Russia." 

"Where  then?" 

"Here,  in  Frankfurt." 

"And  who  is  she?" 

"  A  German ;  that  is  to  say,  no— an  Italian.  A 
resident  of  this  town." 

"With  money?" 

"  Without  money." 

"  So  love  is  very  strong? " 

"How  absurd  thou  art!    Yes,  it  is  strong." 

"  And  thou  needest  money  for  that? " 

"Well,  yes  ....  yes,  yes." 

Polozoff  swallowed  his  wine,  rinsed  out  his 
mouth,  washed  his  hands,  wiped  them  carefully 
on  his  napkin,  pulled  out  and  lighted  a  cigar. 
Sanin  stared  at  him  in  silence. 

"  There  is  one  means,"— bellowed  Polozoff  at 
last,  throwing  back  his  head,  and  emitting  a  slen- 
der stream  of  smoke. — "  Go  to  my  wife.  If  she 
takes  a  fancy,  she  will  disperse  all  thy  difficulty 
offhand." 

153 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"But  how  am  I  to  see  her,  thy  wdfe?  Thou 
sayest  that  thou  art  leaving  the  day  after  to- 
morrow?" 

PolozofF  closed  his  eyes. 

"  See  here,  I  '11  tell  thee  something,"— he  said 
at  last,  twisting  his  cigar  about  in  his  lips,  and 
heaving  a  sigh.— "Go  home,  dress  thyself  with 
all  speed— and  come  hither.  In  an  hour  I  set  out ; 
my  carriage  is  roomy— I'll  take  thee  with  me. 
That 's  the  best  way  of  all.  But  now  I  'm  going 
to  have  a  nap.  I  must  always  have  a  nap  after 
eating,  my  dear  fellow.  Nature  demands  it — 
and  I  do  not  resist.  And  do  not  thou  disturb 
me. 

Sanin  pondered  and  pondered — and  suddenly 
raised  his  head ;  he  had  come  to  a  decision ! 

"  Well,  very  good,  I  accept— and  I  thank  thee. 
At  half -past  twelve  I  will  be  here — and  we  will 
set  out  together  for  Wiesbaden.  I  hope  thy  wdfe 
will  not  be  angry.  ..." 

But  PolozofF  was  already  snoring.  He  stam- 
mered: "Don't  disturb  me!" — waggled  his  legs, 
and  fell  asleep  like  an  infant. 

Once  more  Sanin  swept  a  glance  over  his 
portly  figure,  his  head,  neck,  his  highly-elevated 
chin  as  round  as  an  apple — and,  emerging  from 
the  hotel  ...  he  wended  his  way,  with  brisk 
strides,  to  the  Roselli  confectionery  shop.  He 
must  forewarn  Gemma. 


154 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


XXXII 

He  found  her  in  the  shop,  with  her  mother. 
Frau  Lenore  was  bending  over,  and  with  a  small 
folding  foot-rule  was  measuring  the  space  be- 
tween the  windows.  On  catching  sight  of  Sanin, 
she  straightened  up,  and  greeted  him  cheerily,  yet 
not  without  some  confusion. 

"Ever  since  your  words  of  yesterday,"— she 
began,— "  ideas  have  been  coursing  round  in  my 
head  as  to  how  we  can  improve  our  shop.  Here, 
now,  I  think  we  might  place  two  small  cases  with 
glass  shelves ;  you  know,  that  is  the  fashion  now. 
And  then,  too.  ..." 

"Very  good,  very  good  .  .  .  .  "  Sanin  inter- 
rupted her.— "We  must  think  over  all  that. 
.  .  .  But  come  here,  I  have  something  to  tell 
you."  He  slipped  his  arms  into  Frau  Lenore's 
and  Gemma's  arms,  and  led  them  into  the  other 
room.  Frau  Lenore  was  alarmed,  and  dropped 
the  foot-rule  from  her  hand.  Gemma  was  on 
the  point  of  being  alarmed  also,  but  took  a  closer 
look  at  Sanin,  and  recovered  her  composure.  His 
face  was  anxious,  it  is  true,  but  it  expressed, 
at  the  same  time,  animated  courage  and  decision. 

He  begged  the  two  women  to  sit  down,  and 
stood  in  front  of  them— and  gesticulating  with 
his  hands,  and  ruffling  up  his  hair,  he  told  them 

155 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

everything:  his  meeting  with  Polozoff,  his  pro- 
jected trip  to  Wiesbaden,  the  possibiHty  of  sell- 
ing his  estate. — "  Imagine  my  happiness," — he 
exclaimed  at  last:  "matters  have  taken  such  a 
turn  that  possibly  I  may  not  even  be  obliged  to 
go  to  Russia!  And  we  may  celebrate  the  wed- 
ding much  sooner  than  I  expected!" 

"  When  must  you  go? " — asked  G^mma. 

*'  This  very  day — an  hour  hence;  my  friend  has 
hired  a  carriage— he  will  take  me." 

"  You  will  write  to  us? " 

"Immediately!  as  soon  as  I  have  had  a  talk 
with  that  lady— I  will  write  instantly." 

"That  lady  is  very  rich,  you  say?"— asked 
practical  Frau  Lenore. 

"Extremely!  her  father  was  a  millionaire — 
and  left  her  everything." 

"  Everything— to  her  alone?  Well— that  's 
lucky  for  you!  Only,  look  out,  don't  cheapen 
your  estate!  Be  sensible  and  firm.  Don't  get 
carried  away!  I  understand  your  wish  to  be- 
come Gemma's  husband  as  promptly  as  possible 
....  but  caution,  before  all  else !  Don't  forget 
that  the  more  dearly  you  sell  your  estate,  the  more 
will  remain  for  you  two — and  for  your  children." 

Gemma  turned  away,  and  Sanin  began  again 
to  flourish  his  hands. — "  You  may  feel  assured  of 
my  caution,  Frau  Lenore!  But  I  am  not  going 
to  bargain.  I  will  tell  her  the  real  price:  if  she 
will  give  it— good;  if  she  will  not— I  don't  care." 

156 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"Are  you  acquainted  with  her— with  that 
lady?"  asked  Gemma. 

"  I  have  never  set  eyes  on  her." 

"And  when  shall  you  return?" 

"  If  our  business  comes  to  nothing— the  day 
after  to-morrow;  but  if  all  goes  well,  I  may  be 
obliged  to  stay  an  extra  day  or  two.  In  any  case, 
I  shall  not  linger  a  single  moment.  For  am 
not  I  leaving  my  soul  behind  me  here  ?  However, 
I  have  talked  too  long  with  you,  and  I  must  run 
home  before  I  start.  .  .  .  Give  me  your  hand 
for  luck,  Frau  Lenore — we  always  do  that  in 
Russia." 

"The  right  or  the  left?" 

"  The  left— it  is  nearer  the  heart.  I  will  pre- 
sent myself  the  day  after  to-morrow — with  my 
shield  or  on  it!  Something  tells  me  I  shall  re- 
turn a  victor !  Good-bye,  my  kind,  my  dear  .  .  . 
ones.  ..." 

He  embraced  and  kissed  Frau  Lenore,  but 
asked  Gemma  to  come  into  her  room  with  him 
— for  a  moment — he  must  communicate  to  her 
something  very  important.  He  simply  wished  to 
take  leave  of  her  in  private.  Frau  Lenore  un- 
derstood this— and  did  not  seek  to  learn  what 
that  very  important  thing  was.  .  .  . 

Never  before  had  Sanin  been  in  Gemma's 
chamber.  All  the  enchantment  of  love,  all  its 
fire,  and  rapture,  and  sweet  dread— fairly  flamed 
up  within  him,  and  forced  its  way  into  his  soul, 

157 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

as  soon  as  he  crossed  that  sacred  threshold.  .  .  . 
He  cast  a  glance  of  emotion  round  about  him,  fell 
at  the  feet  of  the  dear  girl,  and  pressed  his  face 
to  her  form  .... 

"Thou  art  mine?"— she  whispered— "thou 
wilt  return  soon? " 

"I  am  thine.  ...  I  will  return,"— he  re- 
peated, sighing. 

"  I  w^ill  wait  for  thee,  my  dear  one! " 

A  few  moments  later,  Sanin  was  running 
along  the  street  to  his  quarters.  He  did  not  even 
notice  that  Pantaleone  had  sprung  out  of  the 
door  of  the  confectioner}^  shop  after  him,  all 
dishevelled— and  shouted  something  at  him,  and 
shook  his  hand,  raised  high  aloft,  and,  seemingly, 
menaced  him  with  it. 

Precisely  at  a  quarter  to  one,  Sanin  presented 
himself  to  PolozofF.  The  carriage  was  already 
standing  at  the  gate  of  his  hotel,  ^\ith  four  horses 
harnessed  to  it.  And  catching  sight  of  Sanin, 
Polozoff  merely  said:  "Ah!  he  has  made  up  his 
mind? "  and  donning  his  hat,  cloak  and  overshoes, 
and  stuffing  cotton  in  his  ears  although  it  was 
summer,  he  came  out  on  the  steps.  The  waiters, 
at  his  command,  arranged  all  his  numerous  pur- 
chases inside  the  carriage,  encircled  the  place 
where  he  was  to  sit  wuth  silken  cushions,  little 
bags,  parcels,  placed  at  his  feet  a  box  of  pro- 
visions and  tied  his  trunk  to  the  coachman's  seat. 

158 


SPRIXG  FRESHETS 

Polozoff  paid  his  reckoning  with  a  lavish  hand, 
— and  although  he  was  hoisted  from  behind,  but 
respectfully,  bj^  the  officious  door-porter,  he  clam- 
bered, grunting,  into  the  carriage,  took  his  seat, 
stirred  up  everything  around  him  thoroughly,  se- 
lected and  lighted  a  cigar — and  onl}^  then  did  he 
beckon  to  Sanin  with  his  finger,  as  much  as  to 
say:  "  Get  in  also,  thou!"  Sanin  seated  himself 
by  his  side.  Polozoff,  through  the  door-porter, 
ordered  the  postilion  to  drive  properly,  if  he 
wished  to  get  di'ink-money ;  the  carriage  steps 
rattled,  the  door  slammed,  the  carriage  rolled  off. 

XXXIII 

From  Frankfurt  to  Wiesbaden  nowadays,  by 
the  railway,  is  less  than  an  hour's  journey;  at 
that  time,  the  extra-post  managed  to  reach  it  in 
three  hours.  The  horses  were  changed  five  times. 
Polozoff  partly  dozed,  partly  swayed  about, 
holding  his  cigar  in  his  teeth,  and  talked  very 
little;  he  never  once  looked  out  of  the  window: 
he  took  no  interest  in  picturesque  views,  and  even 
announced  that— "nature  was  death  to  him!" 
Sanin  also  maintained  silence,  and  also  failed  to 
admire  the  views :  he  was  not  in  a  mood  for  that. 
He  surrendered  himself  wholly  to  meditations, 
memories.  At  the  posting-stations,  Polozoff 
paid  accurately,  took  note  of  the  time  by  his 
watch,  and  rewarded  the  postilions — with  little 

159 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

or  much— according  to  their  zeal.  At  the  middle 
of  the  journey,  he  took  two  oranges  from  the  box 
of  eatables,  and,  having  chosen  the  best,  he  of- 
fered the  other  to  Sanin.  Sanin  gazed  intently 
at  his  fellow-traveller,  and  suddenly  burst  out 
laughing. 

"  What  art  thou  laughing  at?  "—asked  the  lat- 
ter, carefully  peeling  the  skin  from  the  orange 
with  his  short,  white  nails. 

"What  am  I  laughing  at?" — repeated  Sanin. 
— "  Why,  at  our  journey." 

*'  What  of  it?  "—queried  PolozofF,  in  his  turn, 
dropping  into  his  mouth,  one  after  another,  the 
oblong  portions  into  which  the  meat  of  an  orange 
divides. 

"  It 's  very  queer.  Yesterday,  I  must  confess, 
I  was  thinking  as  little  of  thee  as  of  the  Emperor 
of  China, — and  to-day  I  am  driving  with  thee,  to 
sell  my  property  to  thy  wife,  of  whom  I  have  not 
the  slightest  conception." 

"All  sorts  of  things  happen,"— replied  Polo- 
zoff .  "  If  thou  only  livest  long  enough, — thou 
wilt  see  every  sort  of  thing.  For  instance,  canst 
thou  imagine  me  riding  as  an  orderly-officer? 
But  I  have;  and  the  Grand  Duke  Mikhail  Pav- 
lovitch  gave  the  command :  '  At  a  trot,  that  fat 
cornet  is  to  ride  at  a  trot  I    Hasten  thy  trot  I ' " 

Sanin  scratched  behind  his  ear. 

"  Tell  me,  please,  Ippolit  Sidoritch,  what  is 
thy  wife  like?     What  sort  of  disposition   has 

160 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

she?    For  it  is  necessary  that  I  should  know,  you 


see. 


It  was  all  weU  enough  for  him  to  command: 
*  At  a  trot! '  "—interposed  PolozofF,  with  sudden 
vehemence,— "but  me,  how  about  me?  And  I 
thought :  '  Take  your  ranks  and  epaulets  to  your- 
self, I  don't  want  them ! '  Yes  .  .  .  thou  wert 
asking  about  my  wife?  What  's  my  wife  like? 
—A  human  being,  like  everybody  else.  Don't 
stir  her  up— she  doesn't  like  that.  The  chief 
thing  is— talk  as  much  as  possible  ....  let 
there  be  something  to  laugh  at.  Tell  about  your 
love,  for  instance  .  .  .  and  as  amusingly  as  pos- 
sible, you  know." 

"What  dost  thou  mean  by  'as  amusingly  as 
possible'?" 

"  Why,  just  that.  For  thou  hast  told  me  that 
thou  art  in  love,  that  thou  wishest  to  marry. 
Well,  then,  describe  it." 

Sanin  took  oiFence.— "  What  dost  thou  find 
ridiculous  in  that? " 

PolozofF  merely  rolled  his  eyes  about.  The 
juice  from  the  orange  was  trickling  down  his 
chin. 

"  Was  it  thy  wife  who  sent  thee  to  Frankfurt 
to  make  purchases?"— asked  Sanin  a  little  while 
later. 

"  She  herself." 

"What  were  those  purchases?" 

"  Toys,  of  course." 

161 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"Toys?  hast  thou  children?" 

Polozoff  even  drew  away  from  Sanin.— "The 
idea!  Why  should  I  have  any  children?  Femi- 
nine gewgaws.  .  .  .  Finery.  In  the  department 
of  the  toilet." 

"  Art  thou  really  an  expert  in  that  line?  " 

"  I  am." 

"But  didst  not  thou  tell  me  that  thou  didst 
not  meddle  with  any  of  thy  wife's  affairs? " 

"I  don't  meddle  with  anything  else.  But 
this  .  .  .  does  n't  count.  Out  of  tedium— I 
may  do  that.  And  moreover,  my  wife  has 
confidence  in  my  taste.  And  I  'm  keen  at  bar- 
gaining." 

Polozoff  began  to  talk  brokenly:  he  was  al- 
ready fatigued. 

"  And  is  thy  wife  very  rich? " 

"  Yes,  she 's  rich.    Only,  chiefly  for  herself." 

"  But,  apparently,  thou  hast  no  cause  for  com- 
plaint?" 

"  That 's  why  I  'm  her  husband.  The  idea  of 
my  not  getting  the  good  of  it !  And  I  'm  a  useful 
man  to  her:  she  finds  it  an  advantage  to  have 
me !    I  'm — convenient ! " 

Polozoff  wiped  his  face  with  a  silk  handker- 
chief, and  panted  heavily;  as  much  as  to  say: 
"  Spare  me;  don't  make  me  utter  any  more  words. 
Thou  seest  how  difficult  it  is  for  me." 

Sanin  left  him  in  peace— and  again  plunged 
into  meditation. 

162 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

The  hotel  in  Wiesbaden  before  which  the  car- 
riage drew  up  smacked  of  a  regular  palace.  Lit- 
tle bells  immediately  began  to  jingle  in  its  depths, 
a  bustle  and  running  to  and  fro  arose;  comely- 
men,  in  black  dress-suits,  ran  to  the  chief  en- 
trance; a  door-porter,  shimmering  with  gold, 
threw  open  the  carriage-door  with  a  flourish. 

PolozofF  alighted  like  some  conqueror,  and  be- 
gan to  ascend  the  staircase,  all  spread  with  car- 
pet, and  perfumed.  A  man,  also  capitally-well- 
dressed,  but  with  a  Russian  face,  flew  to  meet  him 
— his  valet.  Polozofl"  remarked  to  him  that 
henceforth  he  should  always  take  him  with  him, 
—for  on  the  day  before,  in  Frankfurt,  he,  Polo- 
zofF, had  been  left  for  the  night  without  warm 
water!  The  valet  depicted  horror  on  his  counte- 
nance— and,  bending  alertly  down,  he  removed 
his  master's  overshoes. 

"  Is  jNIarya  Nikolaevna  at  home? " — asked  P6- 
lozoff". 

"  Yes,  sir.  She  is  dressing.  She  is  going  to 
dine  at  Countess  Lasunsky's." 

"Ah!  with  that  ....  Stay!  There  are  things 
yonder  in  the  carriage;  take  everything  out  thy- 
self, and  bring  them  in.  And  do  thou,  Dmitry 
Pavlovitch," — added  PolozofF, — "  engage  a  room 
for  thyself,  and  come  to  me  in  three  quarters  of 
an  hour.    We  will  dine  together." 

PolozofF  went  his  way,  and  Sanin  asked  for 
the   plainest   room   they   had;    and   having    ad- 

163 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

justed  his  toilet,  and  rested  a  little,  he  betook 
himself  to  the  vast  suite  of  rooms  occupied  by  his 
Transparency  (Durchlaucht),  Prince  von  Polo- 
zofF. 

He  found  that  "  prince  "  seated  in  a  sumptuous 
velvet  arm-chair,  in  the  middle  of  the  most  mag- 
nificent sort  of  a  salon.  Sanin's  phlegmatic  friend 
had  already  managed  to  take  a  bath,  and  array 
himself  in  the  richest  of  satin  dressing-gowns ;  on 
his  head  he  had  set  a  crimson  fez.  Sanin  ad- 
vanced to  him,  and  surveyed  him  for  a  while. 
Polozoif  was  sitting  motionless  as  an  idol ;  he  did 
not  even  turn  his  face  to  one  side,  he  did  not  even 
move  an  eyebrow,  he  did  not  emit  a  sound.  The 
spectacle  was,  in  very  truth,  majestic!  After 
having  admired  him  for  a  couple  of  minutes,  Sa- 
nin was  on  the  point  of  speaking,  of  breaking 
that  sacred  silence — when  suddenly  the  door 
from  an  adjoining  room  opened,  and  on  the 
threshold  appeared  a  young,  handsome  lady,  in  a 
white  silk  gown  trimmed  with  black  lace,  with 
diamonds  on  her  arms  and  on  her  neck — Mary  a 
Nikolaevna  PolozofF  in  person!  Her  thick, 
ruddy-gold  hair  fell  on  both  sides  of  her  head— 
in  tresses  which  were  plaited  but  not  pinned  up. 

XXXIV 

"  Akh,  pardon  me!" — she  said,  with  a  half -con- 
fused, half -mocking  smile,  instantly  seizing  the 

164 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

end  of  one  plait  in  her  hand,  and  riveting  her 
large,  brilliant  grey  eyes  on  Sanin.~"I  did  not 
think  you  had  come  yet." 

"  Sanin,  Dmitry  Pavloviteh,  the  friend  of  my 
childhood,"  said  Polozoff,  as  before— not  turning 
toward  him,  and  not  rising,  but  pointing  at  him 
with  his  finger. 

"Yes,  I  know.  .  .  .  Thou  hast  already  told 
me.  I  am  very  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance. 
But  I  wanted  to  ask  thee,  Ippolit  Sidoritch.  .  .  . 
My  maid  is  rather  stupid  to-day  .  .  .  .  " 

"To  pin  up  thy  hair?" 

"Yes,  yes,  please.  Excuse  me," — repeated 
Marya  Nikolaevna,  with  her  former  smile, 
nodding  her  head  at  Sanin,  and  wheeling  swiftly 
round,  disappeared  through  the  door,  leaving  be- 
hind her  a  fleeting  but  stately  impression  of  a 
charming  neck,  wonderful  shoulders,  a  wonder- 
ful figure. 

PolozoiF  rose,  and  waddling  cumbrously, 
passed  through  the  same  door. 

Sanin  did  not,  for  one  moment,  doubt  that  his 
presence  in  "  Prince  Polozoff 's "  drawing-room 
was  known  to  its  mistress;  the  whole  trick  lay 
in  displaying  her  hair,  which  really  was  fine. 
Sanin  even  inwardly  rejoiced  at  this  prank  on 
Madame  Polozoff's  part:  "If  she  wanted  to  as- 
tound me,"  he  said  to  himself,  "to  shine  in  my 
presence — perhaps,  who  knows?  she  will  be 
yielding  in  the  matter  of  the  price  of  my  estate." 

165 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

His  soul  was  so  filled  with  Gemma  that  all  other 
women  possessed  no  significance  whatever  for 
him :  he  hardly  noticed  them ;  and  on  this  occasion 
he  confined  himself  to  thinking:  "  Yes,  I  was  told 
the  truth:  she  is  a  lady  of  the  first  quality! " 

But  had  he  not  been  in  such  an  exceptional 
spiritual  condition,  he  would,  in  all  probability, 
have  expressed  himself  differently:  ^larya  Ni- 
kolaevna  PolozofF,  born  Kolyshkin,  was  a  very 
remarkable  person.  Not  that  she  was  an  acknow- 
ledged beauty:  the  traces  of  her  plebeian  origin 
were  even  quite  distinctly  visible.  Her  brow 
was  low,  her  nose  somewhat  fleshy  and  turned  up, 
she  could  boast  neither  delicacy  of  complexion, 
nor  elegance  of  hands  and  feet— but  what  did  all 
that  matter?  Not  before  "  a  goddess  of  beauty," 
as  Pushkin  says,  would  any  one  pause  who  met 
her,  but  before  the  powerful  witchery  of  a  bloom- 
ing feminine  body,  not  exactly  Russian,  nor  j^et 
exactly  Gipsy  ....  and  he  would  not  have 
paused  involuntarily ! 

But  Gemma's  image  protected  Sanin,  like  that 
triple  armour  of  which  the  poets  sing. 

Ten  minutes  later,  Marya  Nikolaevna  made 
her  appearance  again,  accompanied  by  her 
spouse.  She  went  up  to  Sanin  .  .  .  and  her 
walk  was  such  that  some  eccentric  persons,  in 
those,  alas!  already  distant  days,  would  have 
gone  out  of  their  minds  at  that  walk  alone. 
"  That   woman,   when   she   comes   toward   thee, 

166 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

seems  to  be  bringing  the  whole  happiness  of  thy 
life  to  meet  thee," — one  of  them  was  wont  to  say. 
She  walked  up  to  Sanin,  offered  him  her  hand, 
said  in  her  caressing  and,  as  it  were,  repressed 
voice,  in  Russian:  "You  will  wait  for  me,  will 
you  not?    I  shall  return  soon." 

Sanin  bowed  respectfully,  and  Marya  Niko- 
laevna  disappeared  behind  the  portiere  of  the  en- 
trance door — and,  as  she  vanished,  turned  her 
head  back,  over  her  shoulder, — and  smiled  again, 
and  again  left  behind  her  a  harmonious  impres- 
sion, as  before. 

When  she  smiled — not  one,  not  two,  but  three 
dimples  made  their  appearance  on  each  cheek — 
and  her  eyes  smiled  more  than  her  lips,  than  her 
long,  rosy,  luscious  lips,  with  two  tiny  moles  on 
the  left  side. 

Polozoif  lumbered  into  the  room, — and  again 
placed  himself  in  the  easy-chair.  He  preserved 
silence,  as  before;  but  a  strange  grin  distended, 
from  time  to  time,  his  colourless  and  already 
wrinkled  cheeks. 

He  looked  like  an  old  man,  although  he  was 
only  three  years  older  than  Sanin. 

The  dinner  to  which  he  treated  his  guest 
would,  of  course,  have  satisfied  the  most  exact- 
ing gastronomist,  but  to  Sanin  it  appeared  in- 
terminable, intolerable!  PolozofF  ate  slowly, 
"  ^\ath  feeling,  with  understanding,  with  pauses," 
bending  attentively  over  his  plate,  sniffing  at  al- 

167 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

most  every  morsel:  first  he  would  rinse  out  his 
mouth  with  wine,  and  then  swallow  and  smack 
his  lips.  .  .  And  after  the  roast,  he  suddenly  be- 
gan to  talk — but  about  what?  About  merino 
sheep,  a  whole  flock  of  which  he  was  intending  to 
import,  and  in  such  detail,  using  constantly  di- 
minutive nouns,  with  such  tenderness!  After 
drinking  a  cup  of  boiling  hot  coffee, —  (he  had 
several  times  reminded  the  waiter,  in  a  tearfully- 
irritated  voice,  that  he  had  been  served  on  the 
previous  evening  with  cold  coffee— cold  as  ice!)  — 
and  having  bitten  off  the  tip  of  a  Havana  cigar 
with  his  yellow,  crooked  teeth— he  relapsed  into 
a  doze,  after  his  custom,  to  the  great  joy  of  Sa- 
nin,  who  began  to  walk  back  and  forth,  with  in- 
audible footsteps,  on  the  soft  carpet— and 
dream  about  how  he  would  live  with  Gemma, 
and  with  what  news  he  should  return  to  her.  P6- 
lozoff ,  however,  awoke  earlier  than  usual,  accord- 
ing to  his  own  statement, — he  had  slept  only  an 
hour  and  a  half, — and  having  drunk  a  glass  of 
iced  seltzer  water,  and  swallowed  about  eight 
spoonfuls  of  preserves,  Russian  preserves,  which 
his  valet  brought  to  him  in  a  dark-green,  genuine 
"KiefF  "^  glass  jar,  and  without  which,  as  he  said, 
he  could  not  exist— he  fixed  his  puffy  eyes  on 
Sanin  and  asked  him  whether  he  would  not  like 
to  play  at  "fool"  with  him?^  Sanin  gladly  as- 

'The  preserves  made  in  KiefF  are  famous.— Translatoh. 
^A   very   simple   card    game.— Translatoh. 

168 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

sented;  he  was  afraid  that  PolozofF  might  begin 
to  talk  about  the  rams  again,  and  about  ewe 
lambs,  and  nice  little  fat  sheep-tails.  Host  and 
guest  went  into  the  drawing-room,  the  waiter 
brought  cards,— and  the  game  began,  not  for 
money,  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Marya  Nikolaevna  found  them  at  this  inno- 
cent diversion,  when  she  returned  from  Countess 
Lasiinsky's. 

She  laughed  aloud,  as  soon  as  she  entered  the 
room,  and  caught  sight  of  the  cards,  and  the  out- 
spread Vombre  table.  Sanin  sprang  up  from  his 
seat,  but  she  exclaimed:  "Sit  down,  go  on  play- 
ing.—I  will  change  my  gown,  and  return  to  you  " 
— and  again  vanished,  rustling  her  dress,  and 
drawing  off  her  gloves  as  she  went. 

She  did,  in  fact,  return  very  soon.  She  had 
changed  her  festive  array  for  a  full,  loose  silk 
gown,  of  lilac  hue,  with  open,  hanging  sleeves ;  a 
thick,  twisted  cord  encircled  her  waist.  She 
seated  herself  beside  her  husband,— and  waiting 
until  he  had  been  beaten,  she  said  to  him:  "  Come, 
Puffy,  that  will  do!"- (at  the  word  "Puffy," 
Sanin  cast  a  glance  of  surprise  at  her— and  she 
smiled  back  gaily,  answering  his  glance  with  a 
glance,  and  displaying  all  the  dimples  in  her 
cheeks)— "that  will  do;  I  see  that  thou  art 
sleepy ;  kiss  my  hand,  and  go  to  bed ;  Mr.  Sanin 
and  I  will  chat  together." 

"I'm  not  sleepy,"— said  PolozofF,  rising  lum- 

169 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

beringly  from  his  chair, — "  but  as  for  going  to  bed 
— I'll  go,  and  I'll  kiss  thy  hand."  She  offered 
him  her  palm,  without  ceasing  to  smile  and  to 
glance  at  Sanin. 

PolozofF  also  glanced  at  him — and  went  off, 
without  saying  good  night. 

"  Come,  tell  me  your  story,  tell  me," — said 
Marya  Nikolaevna  with  animation,  placing  both 
bare  elbows  simultaneously  on  the  table,  and  im- 
patiently tapping  the  nails  of  one  hand  against 
the  nails  of  the  other. — "  Are  you  really  going  to 
be  married,  as  I  am  told  ? " 

As  she  uttered  these  words,  Marya  Nikolaevna 
even  inclined  her  head  a  little  on  one  side,  in  order 
that  she  might  look  Sanin  the  more  intently  and 
keenly  in  the  eye. 

XXXV 

Madame  Polozoff's  free  and  easy  behaviour 
would,  in  all  probability,  have  disconcerted  Sanin 
at  first — although  he  was  no  novice,  and  had  al- 
ready rubbed  up  against  people— if  in  that  very 
freedom  and  familiarity  he  had  not  discerned 
another  good  omen  for  his  enterprise.  "  I  '11  hu- 
mour the  caprices  of  this  wealthy  lady," — he  de- 
cided in  his  own  mind, — and  answered  her  with 
an  unconstraint  equal  to  that  with  which  she  had 
put  the  question: — "Yes,  I'm  going  to  be  mar-= 
ried." 

170 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  To  whom?    To  a  foreigner? " 
les. 

"You  have  not  known  her  long?  In  Frank- 
furt?" 

"  Exactly  so." 

"And  who  is  she?    May  one  inquire?" 

"  One  may.  She  is  the  daughter  of  a  confec- 
tioner." 

Marya  Nikolaevna  opened  her  eyes  very 
widely,  and  eleva^^ed  her  brows. 

"Why,  that  is  dehghtful,"— she  said  in  a 
drawling  tone— "that's  splendid!  I  had  sup- 
posed that  there  were  no  longer  any  such  young 
men  as  you  in  the  world.  The  daughter  of  a  con- 
fectioner!" 

"  I  see  that  that  surprises  you," — remarked 
Sanin,  not  without  dignity;  "but,  in  the  first 
place,  I  have  none  of  those  prejudices  .  .  .  .  " 

''In  the  first  place,  that  does  not  surprise  me 
in  the  least,"— interrupted  Marya  Nikolaevna — 
"  I  have  no  prejudices  either.  I  myself  am  the 
daughter  of  a  peasant.  Hey?  What  do  you 
think  of  that  ?  I  am  surprised  and  delighted  that 
here  is  a  man  who  is  not  afraid  to  love.  For  you 
do  love  her,  I  suppose? " 

"  Yes."  .      . 

"  Is  she  very  handsome? " 

Sanin  winced  a  little  at  this  last  question.  .  .  , 
However,  there  was  no  drawing  back  now. 

"You  know,  Marya  Nikolaevna,"— he  began 

171 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

— "  that  to  every  man  the  face  of  his  beloved  ap- 
pears superior  to  all  others;  but  my  bride  is  a 
genuine  beauty." 

"Really?  In  what  style?  the  Italian?  the  an- 
tique?" 

"  Yes;  she  has  very  regular  features." 

"Have  you  her  portrait  with  you?" 

"No!"  (At  that  date,  there  was  no  idea  of 
such  a  thing  as  photographs.  Daguerreotypes 
had  hardly  begun  to  be  generally  known. ) 

"  What  is  her  name? " 

"Her  name  is— Gemma." 

"And  what  is  yours?" 

"  Dmitry." 

"And  your  patronymic?" 

"  Pavlovitch." 

"Do  you  know,"— said  Marya  Nikolaevna, 
still  in  the  same  drawling  tone,—"  I  like  you  very 
much,  Dmitry  Pavlovitch.  You  must  be  a  fine 
man.  Come,  give  me  your  hand.  Let  us  be 
friends." 

She  pressed  his  hand  warmly,  with  her 
beautiful,  white,  strong  fingers.  Her  hand 
was  somewhat  smaller  than  his— but  much 
warmer  and  smoother,  and  softer  and  more 
feminine. 

"  Only,  do  you  know  what  has  come  into  my 
head?" 

"What?" 

"You  will  not  be  angry?    No?     She  is  your 

172 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

betrothed  bride,  you  say.  But  is  that  ....  is 
that  imperatively  necessary?" 

Sanin  frowned.—"  I  do  not  understand  you, 
Marya  Nikolaevna." 

Mary  a  Nikolaevna  broke  into  a  soft  laugh — 
and  shaking  her  head,  she  tossed  back  her  hair, 
which  had  fallen  over  her  face. — "  Positively— 
he  is  charming,"— she  said,  in  a  half -thoughtful, 
half -absent-minded  way.— "A  knight!  After 
that,  just  believe,  if  you  will,  the  people  who 
assert  that  all  the  idealists  have  died  out!" 

Marya  Nikolaevna,  all  this  while,  had  been 
talking  Russian  in  a  wonderfully-pure,  genuine 
Moscow  language— of  a  popular,  not  a  noble 
cast. 

"  You  certainly  must  have  been  reared  at  home, 
in  an  old-fashioned,  God-fearing  family?  To 
what  government  do  you  belong? " 

"  Tula." 

"Well!  then  we  are  pigs  of  the  same  trough. 
My  father.  .  .  .  Of  course,  you  know  who  my 
father  was?" 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

"He  was  born  in  Tula.  .  .  He  was  a  Tula 
man.  Well,  very  good."  (Marya  Nikolaevna 
pronounced  that  "  very  good  "  in  petty-burgher 
fashion,  with  deliberate  intent — thus:  'kher- 
shoo.)^     "Well,  now  let's  get  to  business." 

^The  usual  pronunciation  would  be  khoroshd — with  the  first 
two  o's  resembling  a'*.— Translator. 

173 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  That  is  .  .  .  what  do  you  mean  by  getting 
to  business?  What  are  you  pleased  to  designate 
by  that?" 

ISlsiTysL  Nikolaevna  narrowed  her  eyes. — 
"  Why,  what  did  you  come  hither  for? "  (When 
she  narrowed  her  eyes,  their  expression  became 
very  caressing  and  somewhat  mocking ;  but  when 
she  opened  them  to  their  full  extent,  in  their 
brilliant,  almost  chilly  gleam,  there  shone  forth 
something  evil  ....  something  menacing.  Es- 
pecial beauty  was  imparted  to  her  eyes  by  her  eye- 
brows, which  were  thick,  rather  close  together, 
genuine  sable  brows.)  "  Do  you  wish  me  to  buy 
your  estate?  You  need  money  for  your  wedding? 
Isn't  that  the  case?" 

"  Yes,  I  do  need  money." 

"  And  do  you  require  much? " 

"  For  my  first  needs,  I  might  content  myself 
with  a  few  thousand  francs.  Your  husband  is 
acquainted  with  my  estate.  You  might  consult 
with  him,— and  I  would  ask  a  low  price." 

Marya  Nikolaevna  moved  her  head  to  the  right 
and  to  the  \eft—'' In— the— first— place"  she 
began,  pausing  between  her  words,  tapping  the 
flaps  of  Sanin's  coat  with  her  fingers — "  I  am  not 
accustomed  to  consult  my  husband,  unless  it  be  in 
regard  to  my  toilet— he's  a  fine  hand  at  that; 
and,  in— the— second— place,  why  do  you  say 
that  you  would  set  a  low  price  on  it?  I  do  not 
wish  to  take  advantage  of  the  fact  that  you  are  in 

174 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

love,  and  ready  to  make  any  sacrifice.  ...  I  will 
accept  no  sacrifices  from  you.  How  would  this 
do?  Instead  of  encouraging  .  .  .  well,  how  can 
I  best  express  it?  noble  sentiments  in  you,  I  am 
to  strip  you  bare  as  a  linden-tree,  am  I  ?  ^  That 
is  not  my  habit.  When  it  so  happens,  I  do  not 
spare  people — only,  it  is  not  in  that  way." 

Sanin  could  in  no  wise  understand  whether  she 
was  laughing  at  him,  or  talking  seriously,  and 
merely  thought  to  himself:  "  Oh,  yes,  one  must  be 
on  the  alert  with  thee! " 

A  servant  entered  with  a  Russian  samovar,  a 
tea-service,  cream,  rusks,  and  so  forth,  and  a 
large  tray,  set  out  all  these  blessings  on  the  table 
between  Sanin  and  JNIadame  PolozofF, — and 
withdrew. 

She  poured  him  out  a  cup  of  tea. — "  You  will 
not  disdain  it?" — she  asked,  dropping  the  sugar 
into  the  cup  with  her  fingers,  although  the 
sugar-tongs  lay  there  at  hand. 

"Good  gracious,  no!  .  .  .  From  such  a  lovely 
hand  ..." 

He  did  not  finish  the  phrase,  and  almost  choked 
himself  with  a  mouthful  of  tea,  while  she  gazed 
attentively  and  brightly  at  him. 

*'  I  mentioned  a  low  price  for  my  estate,"— he 
went  on, — "because,  as  you  are  now  abroad,  I 

^  The  linden  Is  stripped  of  its  bark  to  make  plaited  peasant-slip- 
pers, bath-sponges,  and  mat-sacks — corresponding  to  burlaps — in 
which  everything  from  cherries  to  sheet-iron  is  wrapped.— Tbans- 

LATOR, 

175 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

cannot  assume  that  you  have  much  ready  cash, 
and,  in  conclusion,  I  feel  myself  that  the  sale 
...  or  purchase  of  an  estate,  under  such  condi- 
tions—is something  abnormal,  and  that  I  ought 
to  take  that  into  consideration." 

Sanin  became  confused,  and  lost  his  head,  but 
Marya  Nikolaevna  leaned  back  quietly  against 
the  back  of  her  chair,  crossed  her  arms,  and  gazed 
at  him  with  the  same  intent  and  brilliant  glance 
as  before.    At  last,  he  ceased  speaking. 

"Never  mind;  go  on,  go  on  talking,"— she 
said,  as  though  coming  to  his  assistance :  "  I  am 
listening  to  you— I  find  it  agreeable  to  listen  to 
you;  speak  on." 

Sanin  began  to  describe  his  estate,  the  number 
of  desyatinas  ^  it  contained,  where  it  was  situated, 
and  what  profits  could  be  derived  from  it  ...  . 
he  even  alluded  to  the  picturesque  location  of  the 
manor-house;  and  Marya  Nikolaevna  gazed  and 
gazed  at  him,  with  ever-increasing  brightness  and 
intentness,  and  her  lips  moved  slightly,  without 
a  smile :  she  was  biting  them.  He  felt  awkward, 
at  last;  he  relapsed  into  silence  for  the  second 
time. 

"Dmitry  Pavlovitch,"  began  Marya  Nikola- 
evna—and  grew  pensive.  .  .  .  "Dmitry  Pav- 
lovitch,"—she  repeated.— "  See  here:  I  am  con- 
vinced that  the  purchase  of  your  estate  would  be 
a  very  profitable  affair  for  me,  and  that  we  shall 

^A  desyatina  is  2.70  acres. --Thanslatob. 

176 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

come  to  an  agreement ;  but  you  must  give  me  two 
days,— yes,  two  days'  grace.  You  can  bear  sep- 
aration from  your  betrothed  for  a  couple  of  days, 
I  suppose?  I  will  not  detain  you  longer,  against 
your  will — I  give  you  my  word  of  honour.  But  if 
you  now  need  five  or  six  thousand  francs,  I  am 
ready  to  lend  them  to  you,  with  great  pleasure— 
and  we  will  settle  the  account  later  on." 

Sanin  rose.—"  I  must  thank  you,  Marya  Ni- 
kolaevna,  for  your  kind  and  amiable  readiness  to 
be  of  service  to  a  man  who  is  almost  a  stranger 
to  you.  .  .  .  But  if  you  imperatively  insist,  then 
I  prefer  to  await  your  decision  as  to  my  estate— 
I  will  remain  here  two  days." 

"Yes;  I  do,  Dmitry  Pavlovitch.  And  will  it 
be  very  oppressive  for  you?    Very?    Tell  me." 

"  I  love  my  betrothed,  Marya  Nikolaevna— it 
is  not  easy  for  me  to  be  parted  from  her." 

"  Akli,  you  man  of  gold!  "—ejaculated  Marya 
Nikolaevna  with  a  sigh.  "I  promise  not  to 
weary  you  too  much.    Are  you  going? " 

"  It  is  late,"— remarked  Sanin. 

"And  you  must  rest  after  the  journey— and 
from  the  game  at  'fool'  with  my  husband. 
Tell  me— are  you  and  Ippoh't  Sidoritch,  my  hus- 
band, great  friends? " 

"We  were  brought  up  in  the  same  boarding- 
school." 

"And  was  he  like  that  then?" 

"Like  what?"— inquired  Sanin. 

177 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Maiya  Nikolaevna  suddenly  burst  out  laugh- 
ing, and  laughed  until  her  whole  face  was  crim- 
son, raised  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips,  rose  from 
her  chair,— and  swaying,  as  with  fatigue,  she 
advanced  to  Sanin,  and  oiFered  him  her  hand. 
He  bowed — and  went  toward  the  door, 
"  Be  so  good  as  to  present  yourself  very  early 
to-morrow, — do  you  hear?"— she  called  after 
him.  He  glanced  back,  as  he  quitted  the  room — 
and  perceived  that  she  had  dropped  into  her  arm- 
chair once  more,  and  had  thrown  both  arms  be- 
hind her  head.  The  wide  sleeves  of  her  wrapper 
fell  back  almost  to  her  shoulders— and  it  was  im- 
possible not  to  acknowledge  that  the  pose  of 
those  arms,  that  whole  figure,  was  enchantingly 
beautiful. 

XXXVI 

The  lamp  in  Sanin's  room  burned  long  after 
midnight.  He  sat  at  his  table,  writing  to  "his 
Gemma."  He  told  her  everything;  he  described 
to  her  the  Polozoffs — husband  and  wife — but  en- 
larged chiefly  on  his  own  feelings,— and  ended 
by  appointing  a  tryst  three  days  hence !  !  !  ( with 
three  exclamation  points).  Early  in  the  morn- 
ing, he  took  that  letter  to  the  post,  and  went  for 
a  stroll  in  the  garden  of  the  Kurhaus,  where  the 
music  was  already  playing.  There  were  few 
people  as  yet ;  he  stood  for  a  while  in  front  of  the 

178 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

arbour  in  which  the  orchestra  was  located,  listened 
to  a  potpourri  from  "Robert  le  Diable,"— and 
after  drinking  coffee,  he  betook  himself  to  a 
lonely  side-alley,  sat  down  on  a  benJi, — and  fell 
into  thought. 

The  handle  of  a  parasol  tapped  him  briskly— 
and  rather  vehemently— on  the  shoulder.  He 
started.  ...  In  front  of  him,  in  a  light-green 
barege  gown,  a  white  tulle  hat,  and  suede  gloves, 
fresh  and  rosy  as  a  summer  morning,  but  with  the 
softness  of  untroubled  slumber  not  yet  vanished 
from  her  movements  and  her  glance,  stood  Marya 
Nikolaevna. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  she.  "  I  sent  for  you 
this  morning,  but  you  had  already  gone  out.  I 
have  only  just  drunk  my  second  glass— they 
make  me  drink  the  water  here,  you  know— God 
knows  why  .  .  .  am  not  I  well?  And  so  I  must 
walk  for  a  whole  hour.  Will  you  be  my  com- 
panion?   And  then  we  will  drink  coffee." 

"I  have  already  drunk  mine,"— said  Sanin, 
rising;  "but  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  walk  with 
you." 

"  Well,  then  give  me  your  arm.  .  .  .  Have  no 
fear;  your  betrothed  is  not  here— she  will  not  see 

you." 

Sanin  smiled  constrainedly.  He  experienced 
an  unpleasant  sensation  every  time  that  Marya 
Nikolaevna  mentioned  Gemma.  Nevertheless, 
he  bowed  hastily  and  obediently  ....  Marya 

179 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Nikolaevna's  arm  sank  slowly  and  softly  on  his 
arm,— and  slid  along  it,  and,  as  it  were,  clung 
to  it. 

"  Let  us  go  in  this  direction,"— she  said  to  him, 
throwing  her  open  parasol  over  her  shoulder. 
"  I  am  quite  at  home  in  this  park:  I  will  lead  you 
to  the  pretty  spots.  And  do  you  know  what  (she 
frequently  used  these  words)— "you  and  I  will 
not  talk  about  that  purchase  now ;  we  will  discuss 
it  thoroughly  after  breakfast;  but  now  you  must 
tell  me  about  yourself  .  .  .  that  I  may  know 
with  whom  I  am  dealing.  And  afterward,  if  you 
hke,  I  will  tell  you  about  myself.  Do  you 
agree?" 

"But,  Marya  Nikolaevna,  what  interest  can 
you  take  .  .  .  .  " 

"  Stop,  stop.  You  did  not  understand  me 
rightly.  I  do  not  wish  to  flirt  with  you."— 
Marya  Nikolaevna  shrugged  her  shoulders.— 
"  He  has  a  bride  like  an  antique  statue,  and  I  will 
flirt  with  him!  But  you  have  wares— and  I  am  a 
merchant.  And  I  want  to  know  what  wares  you 
have.  Come,  then,  show  what  they  are  like!  I 
want  to  know,  not  only  what  I  am  buying,  but 
the  person  from  whom  I  am  buying.  That  was 
my  father's  rule.  Come,  begin.  .  .  Well,  if  not 
with  your  childhood— here  now— have  you  been 
long  abroad?  And  where  have  you  been  up  to 
the  present  time?  Only,  walk  more  slowly— 
there  is  no  need  for  us  to  hurry." 

180 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  I  came  hither  from  Italy,  where  I  spent  sev- 
eral months." 

"  And  everything  Italian  has,  evidently,  a  spe- 
cial attraction  for  j^ou?  'Tis  strange  that  you 
did  not  find  the  object  of  your  affections  there. 
Are  you  fond  of  art?  of  pictures?  or  are  you 
more  fond  of  music?" 

"  I  am  fond  of  art.  .  .  .  And  I  love  all  that  is 
beautiful." 

"And  music?" 

"  And  music  also." 

"And  I  don't  love  it  at  all.  Only  Russian 
songs  please  me — and  that  in  the  country,  in 
spring — with  dancing,  you  know.  .  .  .  Red  cot- 
ton gowns,  pearl  fringes  on  the  headdresses,  the 
young  grass  in  the  pastures,  an  odour  of  smoke 
.  .  .  splendid!  But  the  question  is  not  of  me. 
Speak,  narrate." 

Marya  Nikolaevna  rambled  on,  and  kept 
glancing  at  Sanin.  She  was  tall — her  face  came 
almost  on  a  level  with  his  face. 

He  began  to  narrate — at  first  reluctantly, 
bunglingly — but  afterward  he  talked  a  great 
deal,  even  chattered.  INIarya  Xikolaevna  listened 
in  a  very  clever  way ;  and  moreover,  she  appeared 
to  be  so  frank  herself  that  she  involuntarily 
evoked  frankness  in  others.  She  possessed  that 
great  gift  of  "familiarity"—/^  terrible  don 
de  la  familiarite, — to  which  Cardinal  Retz  al- 
ludes.    Sanin  talked  about  his  travels,  his  so- 

181 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

journ  in  Petersburg,  his  youth.  .  .  .  Had  Marya 
Nikolaevna  been  a  fashionable  lady,  with  refined 
manners,  he  never  would  have  let  himself  go  like 
that;  but  she  called  herself  "a  good  fellow,  who 
would  not  tolerate  any  ceremony";  those  were 
precisely  the  words  in  which  she  described  herself 
to  Sanin.  And,  at  the  same  time,  the  "  good  fel- 
low" walked  beside  him  with  a  catlike  tread, 
slightly  leaning  toward  him,  and  gazing  up  into 
his  face; — and  in  the  form  of  a  young  person  of 
the  female  sex,  from  whom  emanated  that  intoxi- 
cating and  languorous,  quiet  and  burning  seduc- 
tion, wherewith  certain  Slavonic  natures— and 
those  not  the  pure  ones,  but  with  the  proper  ad- 
mixture—are able  to  torment  us  weak,  sinful 
men! 

Sanin's  stroll  with  Marya  Nikolaevna,  Sanin's 
chat  with  Marya  Nikolaevna,  lasted  more  than 
an  hour.  And  never  once  did  they  halt;  they 
kept  on  walking,  walking  along  the  endless  alleys 
of  the  park,  now  ascending  a  hill,  and  admiring 
the  view,  now  descending  into  a  valley,  and  hid- 
ing themselves  in  impenetrable  shadow — and  all 
the  time  arm  in  arm.  At  intervals,  Sanin  even 
felt  vexed  with  himself:  never  had  he  walked  so 
long  with  Gemma,  his  dear  G^mma  ....  and 
here,  this  lady  had  simply  taken  possession  of 
him  —  and  that  was  all  there  was  to  say !  — 
"Aren't  you  tired?"— he  asked  her  once. — "I 
am  never  tired," — she  replied.    Once  in  a  while, 

182 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

they  met  other  ramblers;  ahnost  all  of  them 
bowed  to  her,— some  respectfully,  others  even 
with  servility.  To  one  of  them,  a  very  handsome, 
foppishly  attired  dark-haired  man,  she  called 
from  a  distance,  in  the  very  best  Parisian  accent : 
"  Comie,  vous  swoez,  il  ne  faut  pas  venir  me  voir 
—ni  aujourdfhui,  ni  demainJ"  The  man  doffed 
his  hat,  in  silence,  and  made  her  a  profound 
salute. 

"Who  is  that?"— asked  Sanin,  in  accordance 
with  the  bad  habit  peculiar  to  all  Russians,  "  ask- 
ing curious  questions." 

"That?  A  Frenchman— there  are  a  lot  of 
them  roaming  about  here.  .  .  .  He  .  .  .  also 
is  an  admirer  of  mine.  But  it  is  time  to  drink 
coffee.  Let  us  go  home;  I  think  you  must  be 
starved  by  this  time.  My  hubby  ^  must  have  got 
his  peepers  opened  by  now." 

"Hubby!  peepers!"  Sanin  repeated  to  him- 
self. ..."  And  she  speaks  French  so  capitally. 
.  .  .  What  a  queer  person  1 " 

Marya  Nikolaevna  was  not  mistaken.  When 
she  and  Sanin  reached  the  hotel,— her  "hubby" 
or  "  Puffy  "  was  already  seated,  with  his  inevi- 
table fez  on  his  head,  at  a  table  spread  for 
breakfast. 

"I've  been  waiting  for  thee  this  long  time!" 

*  Untranslatable.     Literally,  "  My  orthodox 
believer." — Trakslatoe. 

183 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

he  exclaimed,  with  a  sour  visage.  "  I  was  just 
about  to  drink  coffee  without  thee." 

"  Never  mind,  never  mind,"  —  responded 
Mary  a  Nikolaevna  gaily. — "Art  thou  angry? 
That 's  healthy  for  thee :  otherwise,  thou  wouldst 
congeal  altogether.  Here,  I  have  brought  a 
guest.  Ring  at  once!  Let  me  drink  coiFee — the 
very  best  coffee— in  Saxony  cups,  on  a  snow- 
white  table-cloth ! " 

She  threw  off  her  hat,  her  gloves,  and  clapped 
her  hands.  Polozoff  darted  a  sidelong  glance  at 
her. 

"  What  made  you  gallop  about  so  long  to-day, 
Marya  Nikolaevna?" — he  said,  in  an  undertone. 

"  That  's  no  affair  of  yours,  Ippolit  Sidoritch! 
Ring  the  bell!  Sit  down,  Dmitry  Pavlovitch— 
and  drink  coffee  for  the  second  time !  Akh !  how 
jolly  it  is  to  give  orders!  There  is  no  other  plea- 
sure on  earth ! " 

"When  people  obey,"— growled  her  husband 
again. 

"Precisely,  when  people  obey!  That's  why  I 
find  it  jolly.  Especially  with  thee.  Is  n't  that  so, 
Puffy?    And  here  comes  the  coffee." 

On  the  huge  tray  with  which  the  waiter  made 
his  appearance,  lay  also  the  theatrical  programme. 
Marya  Nikolaevna  seized  it. 

"A  drama!" — she  ejaculated  with  indigna- 
tion:— "German  drama.  Never  mind;  that's 
better  than  German  comedy.    Order  a  box  to  be 

184 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

engaged  for  me — a  baignoire— or  no  .  .  .  the 
Fremden-loge  will  be  better,"— she  said  to  the 
waiter.  "  Do  you  hear:  the  Fremden-loge^  with- 
out fail!" 

"  But  what  if  the  Fremden-loge  is  already 
taken  by  his  Excellency  the  town-director— 
{Seine  Eoccellenz  der  Herr  Stadt-Director)  ?"— 
the  waiter  ventured  to  observe. 

"  Give  his  Excellency  ten  thalers— and  let  me 
have  the  box!    Do  you  hear! " 

The  waiter  bowed  his  head  submissively  and 
sadly. 

"  Dmitry  Pavlovitch,  will  you  go  to  the  theatre 
with  me?  the  German  actors  are  horrible, — but 
you  will  go.  .  .  .  Yes?  Yes!  How  amiable  you 
are!    Thou  wilt  not  go,  wilt  thou,  Puffy?" 

"As  thou  commandest," — said  PolozofF  into 
his  cup,  which  he  was  raising  to  his  mouth. 

"Dost  know  what:  stay  here.  Thou  always 
fallest  asleep  in  the  theatre, — and  thou  under- 
standest  German  badly.  This  is  what  thou  hadst 
better  do:  write  a  reply  to  the  steward — thou  re- 
memberest,  about  our  mill  .  .  .  about  the  peas- 
ants' grinding.  Tell  him  that  I  won't,  I  won't, 
I  won't!  There's  occupation  for  thee,  for  the 
whole  evening." 

"  I  obey," — remarked  Polozoff. 

"Well,  very  good  indeed.  Thou  art  a  clever 
dear.  And  now,  gentlemen,  seeing  that  we  have 
mentioned  the  steward,  let  us  discuss  our  main 

185 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

business.  As  soon  as  the  waiter  has  cleared  the 
table,  you  shall  tell  us  everything  about  your  es- 
tate, Dmitry  Pavlovitch — what,  how,  at  what 
price  you  will  sell  it,  how  much  earnest-money 
you  want  in  advance, — in  a  word,  everything!" 
("At  last!"  thought  Sanin,-" thank  God!")- 
"  You  have  already  communicated  to  me  some 
details ;  you  described  your  park  splendidly,  I  re- 
member— but  PuiFy  was  not  present.  .  .  .  Let 
him  hear  about  it — he  always  finds  some  fault! 
It  is  very  pleasant  to  me  to  think  that  I  can  help 
on  your  marriage — and  I  promised  you  that  we 
would  occupy  ourselves  with  you  after  breakfast ; 
and  I  always  keep  my  promises;— isn't  that  so, 
Ippolit  Sidoritch?" 

PolozoiF  rubbed  his  face  with  the  palm  of  his 
hand. — "What  is  true  is  true;  you  deceive  no 
one." 

"Never!  and  I  never  will  deceive  any  one. 
Come,  Dmitry  Pavlovitch,— state  the  case,  as  we 
express  ourselves  in  the  senate." 

XXXVII 

Sanin  set  to  work  to  "  state  the  case," — that  is, 
to  describe  his  estate  again,  for  the  second  time, 
but  on  this  occasion,  without  touching  on  the 
beauties  of  nature— and  from  time  to  time  ap- 
pealing to  PolozofF  for  confirmation  of  the 
"facts    and    figures"    quoted.      But    Polozoff 

186 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

merely  grinned  and  shook  his  head— whether  in 
approbation  or  disapprobation,  was  a  point  which, 
apparently,  the  devil  himself  could  not  have  de- 
termined. However,  Marya  Nikolaevna  did  not 
need  his  sympathy.  She  displayed  such  commer- 
cial and  administrative  capacities  as  could  but 
evoke  amazement !  The  most  petty  details  of  estate 
management  were  excellently  well  known  to  her ; 
she  put  accurate  questions  about  everything,  she 
ventured  into  everything;  her  every  word  hit  the 
mark,  placed  the  dot  directly  on  the  i.  Sanin  had 
not  anticipated  such  an  examination:  he  had  not 
prepared  himself.  And  this  examination  lasted 
for  a  whole  hour  and  a  half.  Sanin  experienced 
all  the  sensations  of  a  criminal  on  trial,  seated  on 
the  narrow  bench  before  a  stern,  a  keen  judge. 
"  Why,  this  is  an  inquisition! "  he  whispered  anx- 
iously to  himself.  Marya  Nikolaevna  laughed 
the  whole  time,  as  though  she  were  jesting:  but 
Sanin  derived  no  relief  from  that;  and  when,  in 
the  course  of  the  "  inquisition,"  it  appeared  that 
he  did  not  understand  quite  clearly  the  words 
"repartition"  and  "tillage"— he  fairly  broke 
into  perspiration. 

"Well,  very  good!"— said  Marya  Nikolaevna 
decisively  at  last.  "  Now  I  know  about  your  es- 
tate. What  price  do  you  fix  per  soul?"  (At 
that  time,  as  every  one  knows,  the  price  of  estates 
was  fixed  according  to  the  number  of  serfs.) 

"  Why  ....  I  think  ...  I  cannot  take  less 

187 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

than  five  hundred  rubles " — articulated  Sanin 
with  difficulty.  (Oh,  Pantaleone,  Pantaleone, 
where  art  thou?  Here's  the  point  where  thou 
shouldst  have  cried  out  once  more:  '' BarbarU") 

Marya  Nikolaevna  rolled  her  eyes  heavenward, 
as  though  absorbed  in  thought. 

"  Certainly,"— she  said  at  last.  "  That  price 
seems  to  me  unobjectionable.  But  I  stipulated 
for  two  days'  grace, — and  you  must  wait  until  to- 
morrow. I  think  we  shall  come  to  terms— and 
then  you  shall  say  how  much  cash  down  you  want. 
But  now, hasta  cost!" — she  interpolated, perceiv- 
ing that  Sanin  was  on  the  point  of  making  some 
reply.— "We  have  occupied  ourselves  enough 
with  the  despicable  metal  ...  a  demain  les  af- 
faires! Do  you  know  what:  I  will  let  you  go 
now  .  .  .  .  "  (she  glanced  at  an  enamelled  watch 
which  was  thrust  into  her  belt)  ....  "until 
three  o'clock  ...  I  must  give  you  time  to  rest. 
Go,  play  at  roulette." 

"  I  never  play  at  gambling  games,"— remarked 
Sanin. 

"  Really?  why,  you  are  the  pink  of  perfection! 
But  I  do  not  play  either.  It  is  foolish  to  fling 
one's  money  to  the  winds— on  a  certainty.  But 
go  into  the  gaming-room,  look  at  the  physiogno- 
mies. There  are  some  very  amusing  ones.  There 
is  one  old  woman  there,  with  a  gold  chain  on  her 
forehead,  and  moustaches— a  marvel  I  One  of  our 
princes  is  there — he's  nice  also.    A  majestic  fig- 

188 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

ure,  a  nose  like  an  eagle's  beak,  and  he  puts  on  a 
thaler— and  crosses  himself  on  the  sly  under  his 
waistcoat.  Read  the  newspapers,  walk  about,  in 
short,  do  whatever  you  like.  .  .  .  And  at  three 
o'clock  I  shall  expect  you  .  .  .  ,  de  pied  ferme. 
We  must  dine  early.  The  theatre  with  these  ri- 
diculous Germans  begins  at  half -past  six."— She 
offered  him  her  hand. — "Sans  rancune,  n'est-ce 
pas?'' 

"  Good  gracious,  Marya  Nikolaevna,  why 
should  I  be  vexed  with  you?" 

"  Because  I  have  been  torturing  you.  Wait, 
I'll  do  it  in  a  different  way" — she  added,  nar- 
rowing her  eyes,— and  all  her  dimples  came  into 
sight  simultaneously  in  her  flushed  cheeks.— 
"  Until  we  meet  again! " 

Sanin  bowed  and  left  the  room.  A  merry 
laugh  rang  out  behind  him— and  in  a  mirror, 
which  he  was  passing  at  the  moment,  the  follow- 
ing scene  was  reflected:  Marya  Nikolaevna  was 
pushing  her  husband's  fez  down  over  his  eyes,  and 
be  was  resisting  with  both  hands. 

XXXVIII 

Oh,  how  deeply  and  joyously  did  Sanin  draw 
breath,  as  soon  as  he  found  himself  in  his  own 
chamber!  In  point  of  fact,  Marya  Nikolaevna 
had  spoken  the  truth,  when  she  had  said  that  he 
ought  to  rest,- to  rest  from  all  those  new  ac- 

189 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

quaintances,  encounters,  conversations,  from  that 
haze  which  had  got  into  his  head,  his  soul;  from 
that  unexpected,  unsought  friendship  with  a  wo- 
man who  was  so  foreign  to  him!  And  when  was 
all  this  taking  place?  Almost  on  the  very  day 
after  the  one  on  which  he  had  learned  that  Gemma 
loved  him,  that  he  had  become  her  betrothed  hus- 
band! Why,  that  was  sacrilege!  A  thousand 
times  he  mentally  asked  forgiveness  of  his  pure, 
unspotted  dove — although,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he 
could  not  accuse  himself  of  anything;  a  thou- 
sand times  he  kissed  the  little  cross  which  had 
been  given  to  him.  Had  he  not  had  a  hope  of 
bringing  to  a  speedy  and  successful  end  the  af- 
fair for  which  he  had  come  to  Wiesbaden,— he 
would  have  rushed  headlong  thence,  back  to  dear 
Frankfurt,  to  that  precious  house,  now  already  a 
home  to  him,  to  her,  to  her  beloved  feet.  .  .  .  But 
there  was  nothing  to  be  done!  He  must  drain 
the  phial  to  the  bottom,  he  must  dress  himself, 
go  to  dinner — and  thence  to  the  theatre.  ...  If 
she  would  only  release  him  as  promptly  as  pos- 
sible on  the  morrow ! 

One  other  thing  troubled  him,  enraged  him: 
he  had  thought  with  love,  with  emotion,  with  no- 
ble rapture  of  Gemma,  of  life  in  her  society,  of 
the  happiness  which  was  awaiting  him  in  the  fu- 
ture— and  yet  this  strange  woman,  this  INIadame 
Polozoff,  kept  importunately  hovering — bobbing 
up  ...  .  precisely  that,  Sanin  expressed  him- 

190 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

self  with  peculiar  viciousness— foo&&m^  up  in 
front  of  his  eyes— and  he  could  not  rid  himself  of 
her  image,  he  could  not  help  hearing  her  voice  and 
recalling  her  speeches — he  could  not  even  help 
being  conscious  of  that  peculiar  perfume,  deli- 
cate, fresh,  and  penetrating,  like  the  perfume  of 
yellow  lilies,  which  emanated  from  her  garments. 
That  lady  was  plainly  making  a  fool  of  him,  and 
making  advances  to  him  in  all  sorts  of  ways.  .  .  . 
Why?  what  did  she  want?  Could  it  be  the  mere 
whim  of  a  spoiled,  rich,  and  almost  immoral  wo- 
man? And  that  husband?  What  sort  of  a  crea- 
ture was  he?  What  were  his  relations  to  her? 
Why  did  those  questions  crawl  into  the  head  of 
him,  Sanin,  who  really  cared  nothing  whatever 
for  Mr.  PolozofF  or  his  wife?  Why  could  not 
he  banish  that  pertinacious  image,  even  when  he 
turned,  with  all  his  soul,  to  another,  as  bright  and 
clear  as  God's  day?  How  dared  those  features 
shine  through  those  others,  which  were  almost 
divine?  And  they  not  only  did  shine  through — 
they  smiled  audaciously.  Those  grey,  rapacious 
eyes,  those  dimples  on  the  cheeks,  those  snaky 
locks  of  hair — and  could  it  be  that  all  this  had,  as 
it  were,  cloven  fast  to  him,  and  was  he  unable  to 
shake  off,  to  cast  aside  all  this? 

Nonsense !  nonsense  I  to-morrow  everything  will 
disappear  and  leave  no  trace.  .  .  .  But  will  she 
release  him  to-morrow? 

Yes,  he  put  all  these  questions  to  himself — and 

191 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

time  began  to  wear  on  toward  three  o'clock — and 
he  donned  his  black  dress-coat,  and  after  stroll- 
ing for  a  while  in  the  park,  he  went  to  the 
PolozofFs'. 

He  found  in  their  drawing-room  a  secretary  of 
legation,  a  German,  a  long,  long,  blond,  with  a 
horse-like  profile,  and  his  hair  parted  in  the  mid- 
dle behind—  (that  was  still  in  fashion  at  that 
date)— and  ...  oh,  wondrous  to  relate!  whom 
else?  von  Donhof,  that  same  officer  with  whom 
he  had  fought  a  few  days  previously!  He  had 
not  in  the  least  expected  to  meet  him  in  that  par- 
ticular place— and  he  involuntarily  grew  embar- 
rassed, but  saluted  him,  nevertheless. 

"Are  you  acquainted?"— asked  Marya  Niko- 
laevna,  whom  Sanin's  confusion  did  not  escape. 

"  Yes  ...  I  have  already  had  the  honour,"— 
articulated  von  Donhof— and  bending  slightly 
in  the  direction  of  Marya  Nikolaevna,  he  added, 
with  a  smile:  "  This  is  the  very  man.  .  .  .  Your 
fellow-countryman  .  ,  .  .  the   Russian  .  .  .  .  " 

"It  cannot  be!"— she  exclaimed  in  an  under- 
tone, shaking  her  finger  at  him— and  immedi- 
ately began  to  dismiss  both  him  and  the  long  sec- 
retary, who,  by  all  the  signs,  was  dead  in  love 
with  her— for  he  even  opened  his  mouth  every 
time  he  looked  at  her.  Donhof  withdrew  imme- 
diately, with  amiable  submissiveness,  like  a  friend 
of  the  family,  who  understands  at  half  a  word 

192 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

what  is  required  of  him ;  the  secretary  tried  to  be 
stubborn,  but  Marya  Nikolaevna  sent  him  away 
without  any  ceremony  whatever. 

"  Go  to  your  reigning  personage,"  she  said  to 
him  (there  dwelt  in  Wiesbaden  at  that  time  a 
certain  Principessa  di  Monaco,  who  bore  a  won- 
derful resemblance  to  a  wretched  woman  of  the 
half -world) — "why  should  you  sit  with  such  a 
plebeian  as  I  am? " 

"  Upon  my  word,  madame,"— the  unfortunate 
secretary  assured  her, — "  all  the  princesses  in  the 
world.  ..." 

But  Marya  Nikolaevna  was  merciless— and 
the  secretary  took  himself  and  his  hair-parting 
off. 

Marya  Nikolaevna  had  arrayed  herself  very 
much  to  her  "  advantage  " — as  our  grandmothers 
were  wont  to  say — on  that  day.  She  wore  a 
gown  of  rose-coloured  glace  silk,  with  lace  a  la 
Fontanges,  and  a  huge  diamond  in  each  ear. 
Her  eyes  were  as  brilliant  as  the  diamonds:  she 
seemed  to  be  in  high  spirits. 

She  made  Sanin  sit  beside  her,  and  began  to 
talk  to  him  about  Paris,  whither  she  was  prepar- 
ing to  go  within  a  few  days ;  about  how  the  Ger- 
mans bored  her,  that  they  were  stupid  when  they 
were  wise,  and  inopportunely  wise  when  they 
were  stupid; — and  all  at  once,  straight  out— a 
brule  pour  point — she  asked  him  whether  it  were 
true  that  he  had  fought  a  duel  recently,  for  the 

193 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

sake  of  a  lady,  with  that  officer  who  had  just  been 
sitting  there  ? 

"How  do  you  know  about  that?"— muttered 
the  astounded  Sanin. 

"  The  earth  is  filled  with  the  sound  thereof, 
Dmitry  Pavlovitch;  but  I  know  that  you  were  in 
the  right,  a  thousandfold  in  the  right — and  be- 
haved like  a  true  knight.  Tell  me — that  lady — 
was  your  betrothed? " 

Sanin  contracted  his  brows  slightly.  .  . 

"  Come,  I  will  not,  I  will  not  do  it  again," — 
said  Marya  Nikolaevna  hastily.  "  It  is  disagree- 
able to  you ;  forgive  me,  I  won't  do  so  again !  do 
not  be  angry ! "  Polozoff  made  his  appearance 
from  the  adjoining  room,  with  a  sheet  of  news- 
paper in  his  hands. 

"  What  do  you  want?    Is  dinner  ready? " 

"Dinner  will  be  served  directly,  and  just  see 
what  I  have  read  in  the  Northern  Bee  .... 
Prince  Gromoboy  is  dead." 

Marya  Nikolaevna  raised  her  head. 

"  Ah !  The  kingdom  of  heaven  be  his !  Every 
year,"  she  said,  turning  to  Sanin,  "  in  February, 
on  my  birthday,  he  used  to  decorate  all  my  rooms 
with  camellias.  But  it  is  not  worth  while  to  live 
in  Petersburg  during  the  winter  for  that.  He 
was  over  seventy,  was  n't  he?"— she  asked  her 
husband. 

"  Yes.  His  funeral  is  described  in  the  paper. 
The  whole  court  was  present.  And  here  are 
Prince  Kovrizhkin's  verses  on  the  event." 

194 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  Well,  that 's  splendid." 

"  I  '11  read  them  aloud,  if  you  like?  The  prince 
calls  him  a  man  of  counsel." 

"  No,  I  would  n't  like.  He  a  man  of  counsel 
indeed!  He  was  simply  the  husband  of  Tatyana 
Yiirievna.  Let's  eat  our  dinner.  The  living 
man  thinks  of  living  things.  Dmitry  Pavlovitch, 
your  arm." 

The  dinner,  like  that  of  the  preceding  evening, 
was  amazing,  and  passed  off  in  very  lively  style. 
Marya  Nikolaevna  had  a  talent  for  narration 
....  a  rare  gift  in  a  woman,  and  still  more  so 
in  a  Russian  woman !  She  did  not  stand  on  cere- 
mony as  to  her  expressions,  and  her  fellow-coun- 
trymen, in  particular,  caught  it  heavily.  More 
than  once  Sanin  was  forced  to  laugh  heartily  at 
some  audacious  and  well-aimed  remark.  The 
thing  which  Marya  Nikolaevna  could  endure 
least  was  hypocrisy,  empty  phrases  and  lying. 
.  . .  She  found  this  almost  everywhere.  She  made 
a  display,  as  it  were,  and  boasted  of  the  lowly 
sphere  in  which  her  life  had  begun :  she  imparted 
decidedly  strange  anecdotes  about  her  parents,  in 
their  youthful  days;  she  called  herself  as  much 
of  a  clodhopper  as  Natalya  Kirilovna  Narysh- 
kin.^  It  became  evident  to  Sanin,  that  she  had 
gone  through  much  more,  in  her  day,  than  the 
great  majority  of  her  countiy women. 

^  The  mother  of  Peter  the  Great,  through  whose  alliance  with 
Tzar  Alex^i  Mikhailovitch  the  Naryshkins  (said  to  have  descended 
from  a  Crimean  Tatar)  first  came  into  prominence. — Teanslatoe. 

195 


SPRIXG  FRESHETS 

But  Polozoff  ate  thoughtfully,  drank  atten- 
tively, only  occasionally  darting  a  glance,  now  at 
his  wife,  again  at  Sanin,  with  his  whitish,  ap- 
parently blind,  but,  in  reality,  extremely  keen- 
sighted  eyes. — "What  a  clever  dear  thou  art!" 
—exclaimed  Marya  Nikolaevna,  turning  toward 
him:  "how  well  thou  hast  executed  all  my  com- 
missions in  Frankfurt !  I  'd  like  to  give  thee  a 
kiss  on  thy  dear  little  brow — but  thou  dost  not 
care  for  that  from  me." 

"  No,  I  don't,"— replied  PolozoiF,  as  he  cut  up 
an  orange  with  a  silver  knife. 

Marya  Xikolaevna  looked  at  him,  and 
drummed  on  the  table  with  her  fingers. 

"  So  our  wager  holds  good? " — she  said  signifi- 
cantly. 

"  It  does." 

"  All  right.    Thou  wilt  lose." 

Polozoff  thrust  his  chin  forward.— "Well, 
don't  be  too  sure  of  thyself  this  time,  Marya  Ni- 
kolaevna, for  my  opinion  is  that  thou  wilt  be  the 
loser." 

"  What  is  the  wager  about?  May  I  know?  "— 
asked  Sanin. 

"  No  ....  it  is  impossible  at  present," — re- 
plied ISIarya  Nikolaevna,  with  a  laugh. 

The  clock  struck  seven.  The  waiter  an- 
nounced that  the  carriage  was  at  the  door. 
Polozoff  escorted  his  wife  to  the  door,  and 
immediately  returned  to  his  easy-chair. 

196 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"See  to  it  that  thou  dost  not  forget  the  letter 
to  the  steward!" — Marya  Nikolaevna  called  to 
him  from  the  antechamber. 

"I'll  write  it;  don't  worry.     I'm  an  accurate 


man." 


XXXIX 

In  the  year  1840  the  theatre  at  Wiesbaden  was 
not  only  wretched  as  to  exterior,  but  its  troupe,  in 
their  pomposity  and  miserable  mediocrity,  their 
diligent  and  commonplace  routine,  did  not  rise 
by  so  much  as  a  hair's-breadth  above  the  level 
which,  down  to  the  present  day,  may  be  regarded 
as  normal  for  all  German  theatres,  and  of  which 
the  troupe  in  Carlsrulie,  under  the  "  celebrated  " 
direction  of  Herr  Devrient,  has  of  late  presented 
the  most  perfect  example.  Behind  the  box  en- 
gaged for  "her  Transparency  Madame  von 
PolozofF"  (the  Lord  only  knows  how  the  waiter 
had  procured  it — whether  he  had  not,  as  an  actual 
fact,  bribed  the  Stadt-Director!) — behind  this 
box  was  a  little  room  with  small  divans  set  all 
around  the  walls.  Before  entering  it,  Marya  Ni- 
kolaevna asked  Sanin  to  raise  the  little  shades 
which  separated  the  box  from  the  theatre. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  be  seen," — said  she, — "  for  in 
that  case,  people  will  make  their  way  hither  im- 
mediately." She  also  placed  him  beside  her,  with 
his  back  to  the  auditorium,  so  that  the  box  ap- 
peared to  be  empty. 

197 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

The  orchestra  played  the  overture  to  the 
"Nozze  di  Figaro."  ....  The  curtain  rose;  the 
play  began. 

It  was  one  of  the  numerous  home-made  pro- 
ductions, in  which  well-read  but  talentless  au- 
thors, in  choice  but  deadly  dull  language,  assidu- 
ously but  clumsily  set  forth  some  "  profound  "  or 
"  palpitating  "  idea,  presented  a  so-called  tragic 
conflict,  and  induced  a  tedium  .  .  .  fairly  Asi- 
atic, like  the  Asiatic  cholera !  Marya  Nikolaevna 
listened  patiently  to  half  of  one  act,  but  when  the 
first  lover,  on  learning  of  the  treachery  of  his  be- 
loved (he  was  dressed  in  a  cinnamon-brown  frock- 
coat,  with  "  puiFs "  and  a  velveteen  collar,  a 
striped  waistcoat  with  mother-of-pearl  buttons, 
green  trousers  with  boot-straps  of  patent-leather, 
and  white  wash-leather  gloves) ,— when  that 
lover,  resting  both  clenched  fists  on  his  breast, 
and  protruding  his  elbows  in  front  of  him 
in  an  acute  angle,  began  to  howl  exactly  like 
a  dog— Marya  Nikolaevna  could  endure  it  no 
longer. 

"  The  worst  French  actor,  in  the  worst  little 
provincial  town,  plays  better  and  more  naturally 
than  the  leading  German  celebrity,"— she  ex- 
claimed indignantly,  and  changed  her  seat  to  the 
rear  room.— "Come  here,"— she  said  to  Sanin, 
tapping  the  divan  by  her  side.— "Let's  have  a 
chat." 

Sanin  obeyed. 

198 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Marya  Nikolaevna  darted  a  glance  at  him.— 
"  But  you  are  soft  as  silk,  I  see !  Your  wife  will 
have  an  easy  time  with  you.  That  buffoon," — 
she  continued,  pointing  the  tip  of  her  fan  at  the 
howling  actor  (he  was  playing  the  part  of  a  pri- 
vate tutor) , — "  has  reminded  me  of  my  youth;  I, 
also,  was  in  love  with  the  tutor.  It  was  my  first 
....  no,  my  second  passion.  I  fell  in  love  for 
the  first  time  with  a  young  fellow  in  training  for 
a  monk,  at  the  Donskoy  Monastery.^  I  was 
twelve  years  old.  I  saw  him  only  on  Sundays. 
He  wore  a  velvet  cassock,  he  scented  himself  with 
lavender  water,  as  he  made  his  way  through  the 
crowd  with  the  censer  he  spoke  to  the  ladies  in 
French:  'Pardon,  eojcusez/— and  never  raised  his 
eyes,  but  he  had  eyelashes,— as  long  as  that!" — 
Marya  Nikolaevna  marked  off  with  her  thumb- 
nail half  of  her  middle  finger,  and  showed  it  to 
Sanin. — "My  tutor's  name  was  Monsieur  Gas- 
ton. I  must  tell  you  that  he  was  a  frightfully 
learned  and  very  strict  man,  a  Swiss,  and  with 
such  an  energetic  face!  He  had  side-whiskers  as 
black  as  pitch,  and  a  Grecian  profile— and  his  lips 
looked  as  though  they  had  been  cast  out  of  iron! 
I  was  afraid  of  him !  In  all  my  life,  I  have  never 
been  afraid  of  any  man  but  that  one !  He  was  the 
governor  of  my  brother,  who  died  afterward 
...  he  was  drowned.  And  a  Gipsy  has  foretold 
a  violent  death  for  me  also— but  that  is  nonsense. 

1  A  famous  monastery  in  the  outskirts  of  Moscow. — Teanslator. 

199 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

I  don't  believe  it.  Just  imagine  Ippolit  Sidoritch 
with  a  dagger ! " 

"  One  may  die  otherwise  than  by  a  dagger," — 
remarked  Sanin. 

"That's  all  nonsense!  Are  you  superstitious? 
I  'm  not— not  in  the  least.  But  what  is  to  be  can- 
not be  avoided.  Monsieur  Gaston  lived  in  our 
house,  over  my  head.  When  I  used  to  wake  up 
in  the  night,  I  could  hear  his  footsteps— he  went 
to  bed  very  late— and  my  heart  used  to  swoon 
w^ith  emotion  ....  or  with  some  other  f  eehng. 
My  father  could  hardly  read  and  write  himself, 
but  he  gave  us  a  good  education.  Do  you  know, 
I  understand  Latin?" 

"You?    Latin?" 

"Yes— I.  Monsieur  Gaston  taught  me.  I 
read  the  ^neid  through  with  him.  It 's  a  tire- 
some thing— but  there  are  nice  passages.  Do  you 
remember,  when  Dido  and  ^neas  in  the  for- 

c^oL*     •     •     • 

"Yes,  yes,  I  remember,"— said  Sanin  hastily. 
He  had  long  ago  forgotten  all  his  Latin,  and  had 
but  a  faint  conception  of  the  iEneid. 

Marya  Nikolaevna  looked  at  him,  according 
to  her  wont,  somewhat  askance,  and  from 
below  upward.- "But  you  must  not  think 
that  I  am  very  learned.  Akli!  good  heavens, 
no — I  'm  not  learned,  and  I  have  no  talents. 
I  hardly  know  how  to  write  ....  truly  I 
don't;  I  cannot  read  aloud;  I  can  neither  play 

200 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

the  piano,  nor  draw,  nor  embroider — noth- 
ing! That  's  what  I  'm  like— this  is  all  there  is 
tome!" 

She  threw  her  hands  apart. — "  I  am  telling  you 
all  this,"— she  went  on,— "in  the  first  place,  to 
avoid  hearing  those  fools"  (she  pointed  at  the 
stage,  where,  at  that  moment,  instead  of  the  actor, 
an  actress  had  taken  up  the  howl,  with  her  elbows, 
also,  thrust  forward),—"  and,  in  the  second 
place,  because  I  am  in  your  debt;  you  told  me 
about  yourself  yesterday." 

"You  were  good  enough  to  ask  me,"— re- 
marked Sanin. 

Marya  Nikolaevna  suddenly  turned  toward 
him. — "And  you  do  not  care  to  know  what  sort 
of  a  woman  I  am?  But  I  am  not  surprised,"— 
she  added,  leaning  back  once  more  against  the 
cushions  of  the  divan.—"  A  man  is  making  ready 
to  marry,  and  for  love  into  the  bargain,  and  after 
a  duel.  .  .  .  What  time  has  he  to  think  of  any- 
thing else?" 

Marya  Nikolaevna  grew  pensive,  and  began  to 
nibble  at  the  handle  of  her  fan,  with  her  large  but 
even  teeth,  as  white  as  milk. 

And  it  seemed  to  Sanin  that  again  there  began 
to  rise  up  in  his  brain  that  haze,  from  which  he 
had  not  been  able  to  rid  himself— for  the  second 
day  now. 

The  conversation  between  him  and  INIarya 
Nikolaevna  had  been  carried  on  in  an  undertone, 

201 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

almost  in  a  whisper — and  this  excited  and  agi- 
tated him  all  the  more.  .  .  . 

When  was  all  this  going  to  end? 

Weak  people  never  put  an  end  to  things  them- 
selves— they  always  wait  for  the  end. 

Some  one  sneezed  on  the  stage: — the  sneeze 
had  been  introduced  into  the  play  by  the  author, 
as  a  "comic  moment,"  or  "element";  there  was 
no  other  comic  element  about  it,  as  a  matter  of 
course :  and  the  spectators  took  advantage  of  that 
moment  and  laughed. 

That  laugh  also  excited  Sanin. 

There  were  minutes  when  he  positively  did  not 
know  whether  he  were  angry  or  pleased,  bored 
or  merry.    Oh,  if  Gemma  could  have  seen  him ! 

"  Really,  it  is  strange,"— said  Marya  Niko- 
laevna  suddenly.  "  A  man  announces  to  you, 
and  in  such  a  composed  voice :  '  I  'm  going  to 
marry ' ;  but  no  one  tells  you  composedly : 
'  I  'm  going  to  fling  myself  into  the  water.'  And 
yet— what  is  the  difference?  'T  is  strange, 
really." 

Vexation  seized  upon  Sanin. — "The  differ- 
ence is  great,  Marya  Nikolaevna!  Some  men  are 
not  in  the  least  afraid  to  throw  themselves  into 
the  water;  they  know  how  to  swim,  and,  in  addi- 
tion to  that  ...  so  far  as  the  strangeness  of 
marriages  is  concerned  ....  if  it  comes  to 
.max  .... 

202 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

He  suddenly  ceased  speaking,  and  bit  his 
tongue. 

Marya  Nikolaevna  smote  the  palm  of  her  hand 
with  her  fan. 

"  Finish  your  sentence,  Dmitry  Pavlovitch, 
finish— I  know  what  you  meant  to  say.  *  If  it 
comes  to  that,  my  dear  madam,  Marya  Niko- 
laevna PolozofF,'  you  meant  to  say,  'nothing 
more  strange  than  your  marriage  can  be  im- 
agined ...  for  I  know  your  husband  well,  from 
childhood.'  That  is  what  you  meant  to  say,— 
you  who  know  how  to  swim ! " 

"Pray,"— Sanin  began  .... 

"  Is  n't  that  the  truth?  Is  n't  that  the  truth? " 
—articulated  Marya  Nikolaevna  pertinaciously. 
"  Come,  look  me  in  the  face,  and  tell  me  that  I 
have  not  spoken  the  truth ! " 

Sanin  did  not  know  where  to  turn  his  eyes.— 
— "  Well,  as  you  like:  it  is  true,  if  you  insist  upon 
it,"  he  said  at  last. 

Marya  Nikolaevna  nodded  her  head.— "Ex- 
actly .  .  .  exactly.  Well— and  have  you  asked 
yourself,  you  who  know  how  to  swim,  what  can 
be  the  cause  of  so  strange  a  .  .  .  .  step,  on  the 
part  of  a  woman  who  is  not  poor  ...  or  stupid 
...  or  ugly?  Perhaps  that  does  not  interest 
you ;  but  never  mind.  I  will  tell  you  the  reason, 
not  now,  but  as  soon  as  the  entr'acte  is  over.  I 
am  in  a  constant  fret  lest  some  one  should 
enter 


•  •  •  • 


203 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Before  Marya  Nikolaevna  had  succeeded  in 
uttering  this  last  word,  the  outer  door  really  did 
open  half-way — and  into  the  box  there  was  thrust 
a  red,  greasily-perspiring  head,  still  young  but 
already  toothless,  with  long,  lank  hair,  a  pendent 
nose,  huge  ears,  like  those  of  a  bat,  with  gold 
spectacles  on  the  curious,  dull  little  eyes,  and  a 
pair  of  eyeglasses  on  top  of  the  spectacles.  The 
head  looked  around,  espied  Marya  Nikolaevna, 
grinned  abominably,  nodded.  ...  A  sinewy 
neck  was  outstretched  after  it.  .  .  . 

Marya  Nikolaevna  shook  her  handkerchief  at 
it. — "  I  'm  not  at  home!  Ich  bin  nicht  zu  Hause^ 
Herr  P.  ,  .  !  Ich  bin  nicht  zu  Hause  .... 
Kshshsh,  kshshsh! " 

The  head  was  surprised,  laughed  in  a  con- 
strained way,  said,  with  a  sort  of  sob,  in  imitation 
of  Liszt,  at  whose  feet  it  had  once  fawned :  "  Sehr 
gut!  sehr  gut!" — and  vanished. 

"What  sort  of  a  creature  is  that?"  inquired 
Sanin. 

"That?  A  Wiesbaden  critic.  A 'litterateur,' 
or  valet  de  place,  whichever  you  please  to  call  it. 
He  is  hired  by  the  local  contractor,  and  therefore 
is  bound  to  praise  everything,  to  go  into  raptures 
over  everything ;  but  he  is  thoroughly  permeated 
with  nasty  gall,  which  he  does  not  dare  even  to 
discharge.  I  'm  afraid :  he 's  a  horrid  gossip ; 
he'll  i-un  straight  off  and  tell  that  I'm  in  the 
theatre.    Well,  I  don't  care." 

204 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

The  orchestra  finished  playing  a  waltz,  the  cur- 
tain rose  again.  .  .  The  contortions  and  whim- 
pering began  again  on  the  stage. 

"Well,  sir,"— began  Marya  Nikolaevna,  sink- 
ing down  on  the  divan  once  more — "  as  long  as 
I  have  got  you  fast,  and  you  are  compelled  to  sit 
with  me,  instead  of  luxuriating  in  the  proximity 
of  your  betrothed  .  .  .  don't  roll  your  eyes,  and 
don't  get  angry — I  understand  you,  and  have  al- 
ready promised  you  that  I  will  dismiss  you  to 
complete  freedom— but  listen  now  to  my  confes- 
sion !  Would  you  like  to  know  what  I  love  most 
of  all?" 

"  Freedom,"  suggested  Sanin. 

Marya  Nikolaevna  laid  her  hand  on  his. 

"Yes,  Dmitry  Pavlovitch,"— she  said— and 
her  voice  rang  with  a  certain  peculiar,  indubita- 
bly genuine  solemnity — "  freedom,  more  than 
all,  and  before  all  else.  And  you  are  not  to  think 
that  I  have  boasted  of  this— there  is  noth- 
ing laudable  about  it — only  it  is  so,  and 
always  has  been  and  always  will  be  so  for  me, 
even  to  my  death.  I  must  have  seen  a  great 
deal  of  slavery  in  my  childhood,  and  have 
suffered  much  from  it.  Well,  and  Mon- 
sieur Gaston,  my  teacher,  opened  my  eyes 
also.  Now,  perhaps,  you  will  understand  why 
I  married  Ippolit  Sidoritch:  with  him  I  am 
free,  perfectly  free,  as  free  as  the  air,  as  the 

breeze And   I   knew   that  before   the 

205 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

wedding,  I  knew  that  with  him  I  should  be  a 
free  kazak!" 

Marya  Nikolaevna  ceased  speaking,  and  flung 
aside  her  fan. 

"I  will  tell  you  still  another  thing;  I  am  not 
averse  to  reflection  ....  it 's  cheerful,  and  that 's 
what  our  mind  was  given  us  for;  but  as  to  the 
consequences  of  what  I  do  myself, — I  never  re- 
flect, and  when  anything  happens,  I  don't  pity 
myself— not  even  so  much— it  isn't  worth  while! 

I  have  a  saying :  ^Cela  ne  tire  pas  a  consequence  * 
—  I  don't  know  how  to  say  that  in  Russian.  And 
it  is  correct:  for  what  does  'tire  a  consequence?* 
— I  shall  not  be  called  to  account  here — on  this 
earth;  and  there — (she  pointed  her  finger  up- 
ward) —well,  there— let  them  arrange  matters  as 
they  like.    When  I  am  judged  there,  it  won't  be 

II  Are  you  listening  to  me?  You  are  not 
bored?" 

Sanin  was  sitting  bent  forward.  He  raised  his 
head.—"  I  am  not  in  the  least  bored,  Marya  Ni- 
kolaevna, and  I  am  listening  to  you  with  curi- 
osity. Only  I  .  .  I  must  confess  ....  I  am 
asking  myself,  why  you  are  saying  all  this  to 
me?" 

Marya  Nikolaevna  moved  along  a  little  on  the 
divan. — "You  are  asking  yourself.  .  .  .  Are  you 
so  dull  of  apprehension?    Or  so  modest?  " 

Sanin  raised  his  head  still  higher. 

"  I  am  saying  all  this  to  you,"— pursued  Marya 

206 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Nikolaevna,  in  a  calm  tone,  which,  however,  did 
not  entirely  conform  to  the  expression  of  her 
face, — "because  I  like  you  very  much  indeed; 
yes,  you  need  not  be  surprised,  I  am  not  jesting; 
for  it  would  be  unpleasant  for  me  if,  after  having 
met  you,  you  should  cherish  a  disagreeable  im- 
pression of  me  ...  or  even  one  that  was  not  dis- 
agreeable—I  don't  mind  that,— but  an  incorrect 
one.  That  is  why  I  have  secluded  myself  here 
with  you,  and  am  remaining  alone  w^ith  you,  and 
am  talking  so  frankly  to  you.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes, 
frankly.  I  am  not  lying.  And  observe,  Dmitry 
Pavlovitch,  I  know  that  you  are  in  love  with  an- 
other woman,  that  you  are  making  ready  to 
marry  her.  .  .  .  But  do  justice  to  mj^  disinter- 
estedness! And  here  is  your  opportunity  to  say, 
in  your  turn  'Cela  ne  tire  pas  a  consequence!'" 

She  laughed,  but  her  laughter  broke  off 
abruptly — and  she  remained  motionless,  as 
though  her  own  words  had  startled  her,  and  in 
her  eyes,  ordinarily  so  merry  and  audacious,  there 
was  a  flash  of  something  akin  to  timidity, — akin 
even  to  sadness. 

"  The  serpent!  akh,  she  is  a  serpent!"  Sanin 
was  thinking  meanwhile;  "  but  what  a  beautiful 
serpent! " 

"  Give  me  my  lorgnette,"— said  Marya  Niko- 
laevna,  suddenly.  "  I  want  to  see  whether  that 
jeune  premiere  actually  is  so  homely.  Really, 
one  might  suppose  that  she  was  appointed  by  the 

207 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

management  with  a  moral  aim  in  view,  in  order 
that  the  young  men  might  not  be  too  much  fas- 
cinated." 

Sanin  handed  her  the  lorgnette,  and,  as  she 
took  it  from  him,  she  clasped  his  hand  swiftly  in 
both  her  hands. 

"  Please  don't  be  so  serious," — she  whispered, 
with  a  smile.— "Do  you  know  what?  no  one  can 
impose  any  fetters  on  me ;  but  then,  I  impose  no 
fetters. — I  love  freedom,  and  recognise  no  ob- 
ligations—and that  not  for  myself  alone.  But 
now,  stand  aside,  if  you  please,  and  let  us  listen 
to  the  play." 

Marya  Nikolaevna  turned  her  glasses  on  the 
stage— and  Sanin  began  to  look  in  that  direction 
also,  as  he  sat  by  her  side,  in  the  semi-darkness 
of  the  box,  and  inhaled — involuntarily  inhaled — 
the  warmth  and  fragrance  of  her  luxurious  body, 
and  as  involuntarily  turned  over  in  his  head 
everything  which  she  had  said  to  him  in  the  course 
of  the  evening — especially  in  the  course  of  the 
last  few  minutes. 

XL 

The  play  lasted  for  more  than  an  hour  longer, 
but  Marya  Nikolaevna  and  Sanin  speedily  ceased 
to  look  at  the  stage.  They  entered  into  conver- 
sation again,  and  that  conversation  slipped  into 
the  same  path  as  before;  only  this  time  Sanin 

208 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

was  less  taciturn.  Inwardly,  he  was  raging  at 
himself  and  at  Marya  Nikolaevna.  He  endea- 
voured to  demonstrate  to  her  the  utter  ground- 
lessness of  her  "  theory,"  as  though  she  cared  for 
theories !  He  began  to  dispute  with  her,  at  which 
she  secretly  rejoiced.  If  a  man  argues,  it  means 
that  he  is  yielding  or  will  yield.  He  has  swal- 
lowed the  bait,  he  is  surrendering,  he  has  ceased 
to  be  wild!  She  retorted,  laughed,  assented,  med- 
itated, attacked  .  .  .  and,  in  the  meantime,  his 
face  and  her  face  drew  nearer  together,  his  eyes 
were  no  longer  averted  from  her  eyes.  .  .  .  Those 
eyes  seemed  to  be  straying,  seemed  to  be  circling 
over  his  features,  and  he  smiled  at  her  in  response 
— politely,  but  he  smiled.  She  had  also  won  this 
much  ground,  that  he  entered  into  abstractions, 
argued  about  honour  in  mutual  relations,  about 
duty,  about  the  sanctity  of  love  and  marriage. 
....  It  is  a  familiar  fact  that  these  abstrac- 
tions are  very,  very  useful  as  a  beginning  .... 
as  a  point  of  departure.  .  .  . 

People  who  knew  IMarya  Nikolaevna  well  were 
wont  to  assert  that  when  a  certain  tender  and 
modest  something— a  something  which  was  al- 
most maidenly-bashful— suddenly  passed  over 
her  whole  strong  and  vigorous  being, — although 
you  might  wonder  whence  it  proceeded,  .  .  yet 
then  .  .  .  yes,  then,  affairs  were  taking  a  dan- 
gerous turn. 

They  were,  obviously,  taking  that  turn  for  Sa- 

209 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

nin.  .  .  .  He  would  have  felt  scorn  for  himself, 
had  he  succeeded,  even  for  one  moment,  in  con- 
centrating himself ;  but  he  did  not  succeed,  either 
in  concentrating  or  scorning  himself. 

And  she  lost  no  time.  And  it  all  came  about 
because  he  was  very  far  from  homely.  One  is,  in- 
voluntarily, compelled  to  say:  "How  are  you 
to  know  where  you  will  find,  where  you  will 
lose?" 

The  play  came  to  an  end.  Marya  Nikolaevna 
asked  Sanin  to  throw  her  shawl  around  her,  and 
did  not  stir  while  he  was  wrapping  the  soft  fab- 
ric about  her  really  regal  shoulders.  Then  she 
took  his  arm,  emerged  into  the  corridor— and 
came  near  shrieking  aloud.  At  the  very  door  of 
the  box,  like  a  spectre,  stood  Donhof ;  and  from 
behind  his  back  peeped  the  repulsive  figure 
of  the  Wiesbaden  critic.  The  face  of  this  "  liter- 
ary man "  was  fairly  beaming  with  malicious 
delight. 

"  Do  you  command  me  to  find  your  carriage, 
madame? "  said  the  young  officer,  addressing 
Marya  Nikolaevna,  with  the  quiver  of  badly- 
concealed  wrath  in  his  voice. 

"No,  thank  you,"— she  replied.  .  .  .  "My 
lackey  will  find  it.  Staj^  here!" — she  added,  in 
an  imperious  whisper— and  swiftly  retreated, 
dragging  Sanin  along. 

"Go  to  the  devil!  Why  are  you  bothering 
me?  "  Donhof  suddenly  roared  at  the  hterary 

210 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

man.    He  was  forced  to  vent  his  spleen  on  some 
one. 

"  Sehr  gut!  sehr  gut! " — mumbled  the  literary- 
man — and  vanished. 

Mary  a  Nikolaevna's  lackey,  who  was  waiting 
for  her  in  the  vestibule,  found  her  carriage  in  an 
instant;  she  hastily  seated  herself  in  it,  Sanin 
sprang  in  after  her.  The  door  slammed — and 
Marya  Nikolaevna  broke  into  a  ringing  laugh. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at?  " — asked  Sanin. 

"Akh,  excuse  me,  pray  ....  but  an  idea 
came  into  my  head.  What  if  Donhof  were  to 
fight  another  duel  with  you  ....  about  me. 
....  Would  n't  that  be  splendid?  " 

"  And  are  you  very  intimately  acquainted  with 
him?  "—asked  Sanin. 

"With  him?  With  that  little  boy?  He 's  just 
one  of  my  errand-boys.  Don't  worry  about 
him!" 

*'  Why,  I  'm  not  worrying  at  all." 

Marya  Nikolaevna  sighed. — "Akh,  I  know 
that  you  are  not  worrying.  But,  listen— do  you 
know  what?  you  are  so  nice,  you  ought  not  to  re- 
fuse me  one  last  request.  Don't  forget:  two 
days  hence  I  set  out  for  Paris,  and  you  will  re- 
turn to  Frankfurt.  .  .  .  When  shall  we  meet 
again ! 

"  What  is  your  request?  " 

"  You  can  ride  on  horseback,  of  course?" 

"  Yes." 

211 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  Well,  then,  see  here.  To-morrow  morning 
I  will  take  you  with  me — and  we  will  ride  into 
the  suburbs  together.  We  shall  have  capital 
horses.  Then  we  will  return,  and  will  settle  our 
business — and  amen!  Do  not  be  surprised,  do 
not  tell  me  that  this  is  a  caprice,  that  I  am  crazy 
—all  that  may  be  true— but  say  merely:  '  I  con- 
sent! '  " 

Marya  Nikolaevna  turned  her  face  toward 
him.  It  was  dark  in  the  carriage,  but  her  eyes 
gleamed  even  in  that  gloom. 

"  Certainly,  I  consent,"— said  Sanin,  with  a 
sigh. 

"Akli!  You  sighed!  "—Marya  Nikolaevna 
mocked  him.  "  That  is  what  is  meant  by:  You 
have  said  A — don't  refuse  to  say  B.  But,  no, 
no.  .  .  .  You  are  charming,  you  are  good — and 
I  will  keep  my  promise.  Here  is  my  hand  for 
you,  ungloved,  the  right,  the  business-like  hand. 
Take  it — and  trust  its  pressure.  What  sort  of 
a  woman  I  am,  I  do  not  know,  but  I  am  an  honest 
man — and  you  can  do  business  with  me." 

Sanin,  without  clearly  accounting  to  himself 
for  what  he  did,  raised  the  hand  to  his  lips.  Marya 
Nikolaevna  gently  withdrew  it — and  suddenly 
ceased  speaking,  and  maintained  silence  until  the 
carriage  came  to  a  halt. 

She  began  to  alight.  .  .  .  "What  's  that?" 
Was  it  merely  Sanin's  fancy,  or  did  he  really  feel 
on  his  cheek  a  swift  and  burning  touch? 

212 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"Farewell  until  to-morrow!" — whispered 
Marya  Nikolaevna  to  him  on  the  stairs,  all  illu- 
minated with  the  four  lights  of  the  candelabra, 
which  had  been  caught  up,  on  her  appearance,  by 
the  gilded  door-porter.  She  kept  her  eyes  down- 
cast. 

"  Until  to-morrow! " 

When  he  reached  his  room,  Sanin  found  on  his 
table  a  letter  from  Gemma.  He  was  frightened 
....  for  a  moment — but  immediately  rejoiced, 
in  order  the  more  speedily  to  mask  his  own  fear 
to  himself. — It  consisted  of  a  few  lines. — She  was 
delighted  at  the  favourable  "  beginning  of  the 
affair,"  advised  him  to  be  patient,  and  added 
that  every  one  in  the  house  was  well,  and  was  re- 
joicing in  advance  over  his  return.  Sanin 
thought  this  letter  decidedly  curt;  but,  neverthe- 
less, he  took  pen  and  paper— and  then  flung  all 
aside. — "  Why  write?  To-morrow  I  shall  return 
in  person  ....  't  is  time,  high  time !  " 

He  immediately  went  to  bed,  and  tried  to  get 
to  sleep  as  promptly  as  possible.  Had  he  re- 
mained up,  and  awake,  he  certainly  would  have 
begun  to  think  of  Gemma— but,  for  some  rea- 
son or  other  ....  he  was  ashamed  to  think  of 
her.  His  conscience  was  stirring  within  him. 
But  he  soothed  himself  with  the  reflection  that 
on  the  morrow  everji:hing  would  be  over  forever, 
and  he  would  part  forever  from  that  giddy  fine 
lady— and  would  forget  all  that  nonsense!  .  .  .  . 

213 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Weak  people,  when  they  talk  to  themselves, 
are  fond  of  using  energetic  expressions. 

"  Et  puis  ....  cela  ne  tire  pas  a  consequence! " 

XLI 

This  is  what  Sanin  was  thinking,  as  he  got  into 
bed.  But  what  he  thought  on  the  following  day, 
when  Marya  Nikolaevna  impatiently  tapped  on 
his  door  with  the  coral  handle  of  her  riding-whip ; 
when  he  beheld  her  on  the  threshold  of  his  cham- 
ber, with  the  train  of  her  dark-green  riding- 
habit  over  her  arm,  a  little  masculine  hat  on 
her  curls  plaited  in  heavy  braids,  her  veil  tossed 
over  her  shoulder,  and  with  a  tempting  smile  on 
her  lips,  in  her  eyes,  on  her  whole  face — as  to 
what  he  thought  then  history  holds  its  peace. 

"  Well?  Are  you  ready?  " — her  merry  voice 
resounded. 

Sanin  buttoned  his  coat,  and  silently  took  up 
his  hat.  Marya  Nikolaevna  darted  a  brilliant 
glance  at  him,  nodded  her  head,  and  ran  swiftly 
down  the  staircase.    And  he  ran  after  her. 

The  horses  were  already  standing  in  the  street, 
in  front  of  the  steps.  There  were  three  of  them. 
A  golden-bay,  pure-blooded  mare,  with  a  thin, 
grinning  muzzle,  black,  prominent  eyes,  with  the 
legs  of  a  deer,  rather  lean,  but  handsome  and 
mettlesome  as  fire,— for  Marya  Nikolaevna;  a 
powerful,  broad,  rather  heavily -built  horse,  black, 

214 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

without  marks,— for  Sanin;  the  third  horse  was 
destined  for  the  groom.  Marya  Nikolaevna 
leaped  agilely  on  her  mare.  .  .  The  latter 
pranced  and  curveted,  flirted  out  its  tail,  and 
elevated  its  crupper,  but  Marya  Nikolaevna  (a 
capital  horsewoman!)  held  it  in  place.  She 
must  say  good-bye  to  Polozoff,  who,  in  his  inev- 
itable fez  and  with  dressing-gown  flying  open, 
made  his  appearance  on  the  balcony,  and  thence 
waved  a  batiste  handkerchief,  without  the  trace  of 
a  smile,  however,  but  frowning  rather.  Sanin 
mounted  also  on  his  horse.  Marya  Nikolaevna 
saluted  Mr.  Polozofl"  with  her  whip,  then  lashed 
the  flat  arched  neck  of  her  steed  with  it;  the  lat- 
ter reared  on  its  hind  legs,  darted  forward,  and 
proceeded  in  a  prancing,  curveting  gait,  quiver- 
ing in  every  nerve,  champing  at  the  bit,  biting  the 
air,  and  snorting  violently.  Sanin  rode  behind, 
and  gazed  at  Marya  Nikolaevna.  Confidently, 
dexterously,  and  gracefully  swayed  her  lithe, 
slender  form,  closely  and  easily  confined  by  her 
corset.  She  turned  back  her  head,  and  sum- 
moned him  with  her  eyes.  He  rode  up  along- 
side of  her. 

"Well,  here  you  see  how  nice  it  is,"— said  she. 
"  I  am  talking  to  you  for  the  last  time  before  our 
parting!  You  are  a  dear!  and  you  shall  not  re- 
pent!" 

Having  uttered  these  last  words,  she  moved 
her  head  from  above  downward  several  times, 

215 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

as  though  desirous  of  confirming  them,  and  mak- 
ing him  feel  their  significance. 

She  seemed  happy  to  such  a  degree  that  Sanin 
was  simply  amazed.  A  certain  sedate  expression 
made  its  appearance  on  her  face— the  sort  of 
expression  which  children  wear  when  they  are 
very  ....  very  much  pleased. 

They  rode  at  a  foot-pace  to  the  barrier,  which 
was  not  far  distant,  and  there  set  out  at  a  rapid 
gallop  along  the  highway.  The  weather  was  glo- 
rious, real  summer  weather;  the  breeze  blew  in 
their  faces,  and  hummed  and  whistled  agreeably 
in  their  ears.  They  felt  well;  the  consciousness 
of  young,  healthy  life,  of  free,  rapid  movement 
ahead,  took  possession  of  both  of  them;  it  aug- 
mented with  every  moment. 

Marya  Nikolaevna  reined  in  her  horse,  and 
rode  at  a  walk ;  Sanin  followed  her  example. 

"  There,"— she  began,  with  a  deep,  blissful 
sigh;  "there,  life  is  worth  living  for  this  alone. 
When  one  has  succeeded  in  accomplishing  what 
he  wishes,  what  seemed  impossible — well,  then, 
soul,  profit  by  it  to  the  utmost!  "  She  passed  her 
hand  across  her  throat.  — "And  how  amiable  a 
person  feels  then!  Here  am  I  now  .  .  how  ami- 
able I  am!  It  seems  as  though  I  could  embrace 
the  whole  world."— She  pointed  with  her  whip  at 
a  poorly-clad  old  man,  who  was  making  his  way 
along  on  one  side.  —  "  I  'm  even  ready  to  make 
him  happy.  Here,  there,  you,  take  this,"— she 
cried    loudly,    in    German— flinging    her    purse 

216 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

at  his  feet.  The  ponderous  bag  (there  was  no 
such  thing  as  a  pocket-book  in  those  days)  clat- 
tered on  the  road.  The  passer-by  was  astonished, 
and  halted,  but  Marya  Nikolaevna  burst  out 
laughing,  and  set  her  horse  to  galloping. 

"  Does  it  make  you  so  merry  to  ride  on  horse- 
back? "  asked  Sanin,  as  he  overtook  her. 

Again  IMarya  Nikolaevna  reined  in  her  horse 
until  it  rested  on  its  hind  quarters.  She  never 
stopped  it  in  any  other  way. — "  I  only  wished 
to  escape  gratitude.  He  who  thanks  me  spoils 
my  happiness.  I  did  n't  do  it  for  his  sake,  you 
see,  but  for  my  own.  And  how  could  he  dare  to 
thank  me?  I  did  not  hear  exactly  what  you 
asked  me? " 

"  I  asked  ...  I  wanted  to  know  why  you  are 
so  merry  to-day? " 

"  Do  you  know  what," — said  Marya  Nikola- 
evna: she  either  did  not  hear  what  Sanin  said, 
or  else  she  did  not  consider  it  necessary  to  an- 
swer his  question.—"  I  'm  frightfully  tired  of 
that  groom,  who  is  sticking  up  there  behind  us, 
and  who  must  be  thinking  only  about  when  '  the 
masters '  will  go  home.  How  shall  we  get  rid  of 
him?  "—She  hastily  drew  from  her  pocket  a  lit- 
tle note-book. — "  Shall  I  send  him  to  town  with 
a  letter?  No  ....  that  won't  do.  Ah,  I  have 
it!    What  's  that  ahead  of  us?    A  restaurant?  " 

Sanin  looked  in  the  direction  she  indicated. — 
"  Yes,  it  is  a  restaurant,  apparently." 

"  Well,  very  good,  indeed.    I  will  order  him  to 

217 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

remain  at  that  restaurant,  and  drink  beer,  until 
we  return." 

"But  what  will  he  think?" 

"  What  business  is  that  of  ours?  But  he  will 
not  think;  he  will  drink  beer — that  's  all.  Come, 
Sanin  "  (she  addressed  him  by  his  surname  for  the 
first  time)  — "  advance — at  a  trot!  " 

On  coming  opposite  the  restaurant,  Marya 
Nikolaevna  called  up  the  groom,  and  informed 
him  of  what  she  required  of  him.  The  groom, 
a  man  of  English  extraction  and  English  tem- 
perament, silently  lifted  his  hand  to  the  visor  of 
his  cap,  sprang  from  his  horse,  and  took  it  by  the 
bridle. 

"  Well,  now  we  are  free  as  birds!  " — exclaimed 
Marya  Nikolaevna.  — "  Where  shall  we  go? — 
north,  south,  east,  or  west?  See,— I  do  like  the 
King  of  Hungary  at  his  coronation "  (she 
pointed  with  her  whip  at  all  four  quarters  of 
the  globe).  —  "All  is  ours!  No,  do  you  know 
w^hat:  see,  what  glorious  mountains  there  are  yon- 
der— and  what  a  forest!  Let  us  ride  thither,  to 
the  hills,  to  the  hills ! 

In  die  Berge,  wo  die  Freiheit  thront !  " 

She  turned  out  of  the  highway,  and  galloped 
along  a  narrow,  unbeaten  road,  which  appeared 
to  lead  directly  to  the  mountains.  Sanin  gal- 
loped after  her. 

218 


SPRING  FRESHETS 


XLII 

This  road  soon  became  a  path,  and  at  last  disap- 
peared entirely,  intercepted  by  a  ditch.  Sanin 
advised  return,  but  Marya  Nikolaevna  said: 
"No!  I  want  to  go  to  the  mountains!  Let  us 
ride  straight  as  the  birds  fly  .  .  ."—and  made  her 
horse  leap  the  ditch.  Sanin  also  leaped  it.  Be- 
yond the  ditch  began  a  meadow,  at  first  dry,  then 
wet,  then,  at  last,  a  regular  marsh ;  the  water  was 
seeping  through  everywhere,  and  stood  in  pools. 
Marya  Nikolaevna  sent  her  horse  deliberately 
across  the  pools,  laughed  loudly,  and  kept  reiter- 
ating: "Let's  froHc  like  school-children!" 

"Do  you  know,"— she  asked  Sanin,— "the 
meaning  of  the  expression:  '  puddle-hunting '? "  ^ 

"  I  do,"  replied  Sanin. 

"My  uncle  was  a  huntsman,"— she  went  on. 
"  I  used  to  ride  with  him  in  the  spring.  It  was 
splendid!  Just  like  you  and  I  now— ah,  the  pud- 
dles! I  see  you  are  a  Russian  man,  but  you 
want  to  marry  an  Italian.  Well,  that  's  your 
affliction.    What's  that?   Another  ditch?   Hop!" 

The  horse  leaped— but  Marya  Nikolaevna's 
hat  fell  from  her  head,  and  her  curls  showered 
down  over  her  shoulders.  Sanin  was  on  the  point 
of  slipping  off  his  horse,  and  picking  up  the  hat ; 
but  she  shouted  at  him:  "  Don't  touch  it;  I  '11  get 

'The  first  spring  thaw.— Translatoe. 

219 


SPRIXG  FRESHETS 

it  myself!"  bent  low  in  her  saddle,  hooked  the 
handle  of  her  whip  into  the  veil,  and,  in  fact,  did 
get  the  hat,  and  put  it  on  her  head,  but  without 
gathering  up  her  hair,  dashed  headlong  onward 
once  more,  and  even  whooped.  Sanin  dashed 
along  by  her  side,  leaped  over  gullies,  fences, 
brooks,  tumbhng  in  and  scrambling  out,  racing 
down  hill,  racing  up  hill,  and  gazing  ever  in  her 
face.  What  a  face !  It  seemed  to  be  all  open ;  the 
eyes  were  open,  greedy,  bright,  wild;  the  lips, 
the  nostrils  were  open  also,  and  breathed  eagerly ; 
she  stared  straight  and  intently  in  front  of  her, 
and,  apparently,  that  soul  wanted  to  take  pos- 
session of  everything  she  beheld,  the  earth,  the 
sky,  the  sun,  and  the  very  air  itself,  and  grieved 
over  one  thing  only:  there  were  too  few  dangers 
— it  would  have  overcome  them  all!  "Sanin!" 
— she  cried,  "this  is  in  Biirger's  'Lenore!' 
Only,  you  are  not  dead— are  you?  You  are 
not  dead?  .  .  .  I  'm  aUve!"  Her  power  of  dar- 
ing had  begun  to  come  into  action.  She  was  no 
longer  a  woman-rider,  setting  her  horse  at  a  gal- 
lop— she  was  a  young  female  centaur — half- 
beast,  half -goddess — who  was  galloping  there — 
and  the  sedate  and  well-trained  country,  trampled 
upon  by  her  stormy  debauch,  stood  amazed. 

Marya  Nikolaevna  at  last  drew  up  her  foam- 
ing, bespattered  horse ;  it  was  staggering  beneath 
her,  and  Sanin's  powerful  but  heavy  stalhon  was 
out  of  breath. 

220 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"Well?  Is  it  pleasant?"  asked  Marya  Niko- 
laevna,  in  a  wonderful  sort  of  whisper. 

"  Yes!  "—responded  Sanin,  enthusiastically. 
And  his  blood  blazed  up  within  him. 

"  Wait,  there 's  more  to  come!  "—She  stretched 
out  her  hand.    The  glove  on  it  was  rent. 

"  I  told  you  that  I  would  lead  you  to  the  forest, 
to  the  mountains  .  .  .  there  they  are,  the  moun- 
tains!"—In  fact,  the  mountains,  covered  with 
lofty  forest,  began  a  couple  of  hundred  paces 
from  the  spot  to  which  the  wild  riders  had  flown. 
— "  Look,  yonder  is  the  road,  too.  Let  us  set 
out— and  forward!  But  at  a  walk.  We  must 
give  the  horses  a  rest." 

They  rode  on.  With  one  powerful  sweep  of 
the  hand,  Marya  Nikolaevna  tossed  back  her  hair. 
Then  she  looked  at  her  gloves— and  took  them 
off.  "  My  hands  will  smell  of  the  leather,"— she 
said,  "  but  you  don't  mind  that,  I  hope?  Do 
you?"  ....  Marya  Nikolaevna  smiled,  and 
Sanin  smiled  also.  That  mad  ride  of  theirs 
seemed  to  have  definitively  brought  them  close 
together,  and  made  them  friends. 

"How  old  are  you?" — she  suddenly  inquired. 

"  Twenty-two." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  I  am  also  twenty-two.  It 
is  a  good  age.  Add  our  ages  together,  and  even 
then  the  sum  will  be  far  removed  from  old  age. 
But  how  hot  it  is!    Is  my  face  red?" 

"  As  a  poppy." 

221 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Marya  Nikolaevna  wiped  her  face  with  her 
handkerchief. — "  If  we  can  but  reach  the  forest, 
it  will  be  cool  there.  Such  an  old  forest  is  just 
like  an  old  friend.    Have  you  friends? " 

Sanin  reflected  a  little.—"  Yes  .  .  .  only,  not 
many.    No  real  ones." 

"But  I  have  some,  real  friends,  only  not  old 
ones.  Here  's  a  friend,  also— a  horse.  How 
carefully  it  carries  one!  Akh,  it  is  capital  here! 
Is  it  possible  that  I  shall  set  out  for  Paris  the  day 
after  to-morrow? " 

"Yes  ...  is  it  possible?"— chimed  in  Sanin. 

"  And  are  you  going  to  Frankfurt? " 

"  It  is  imperatively  necessary  that  I  should  go 
to  Frankfurt." 

"Well,  never  mind  ....  good  luck  to  you! 
But  to-day  is  ours  ....  ours  ....  ours ! " 

The  horses  reached  the  border  of  the  forest,  and 
entered  it.  The  shadow  of  the  forest  enveloped 
them  broadly  and  softly  on  all  sides. 

"  Oh,  yes,  this  is  paradise!  "—exclaimed  Marya 
Nikolaevna.  "  Deeper,  further  into  the  shade, 
Sanin! " 

The  horses  moved  on,  "  deeper  into  the  shade," 
reeling  slightly,  and  snorting.  The  path  wherein 
they  trod  suddenly  made  a  turn  to  one  side,  and 
plunged  into  a  rather  narrow  gorge.  The  scent 
of  the  young  birch-trees,  of  ferns,  of  pine-resin, 
of  rank  rotting  foliage  from  the  preceding  year, 

22a 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

seemed  to  be  shut  up  within  it— dense  and 
dreamy.  From  the  crevices  of  the  huge,  dark- 
brown  rocks  emanated  a  robust  coolness.  On 
both  sides  of  the  path  rose  round  mounds  over- 
grown with  green  moss. 

"  Stop!  "—cried  Marya  Nikolaevna.  "  I  want 
to  sit  down  and  rest  on  this  velvet.  Help  me  to 
dismount." 

Sanin  leaped  from  his  horse,  and  ran  to  her. 
She  leaned  on  his  shoulders,  sprang  instantly  to 
the  ground,  and  seated  herself  on  one  of  the 
mossy  mounds.  He  stood  in  front  of  her,  hold- 
ing the  bridles  of  both  horses  in  his  hands. 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his.  ..."  Sanin,  can 
you  forget? " 

Sanin  recalled  what  had  happened  the  night 
before  ....  in  the  carriage : — "  What  is  that — 
a  question  ....  or  a  reproach?  " 

"  I  have  never  reproached  any  one  for  any- 
thing in  my  life.  But  do  you  believe  in  love- 
charms?  " 

"  What? " 

"In  love-charms— you  know;  what  is  referred 
to  in  our  songs.  In  the  popular  Russian  bal- 
lads." 

"  Ah!  That 's  what  you  are  talking  about . . ." 
drawled  Sanin. 

"  Yes,  about  that.  I  believe  in  that  ....  and 
do  you?" 

"Love-charms  ....  witchcraft  .  .  .  ,"  repeated 

223 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

Sanin.  "  Everything  is  possible  in  this  world.  I 
did  not  use  to  believe  in  it— now  I  do.  I  don't 
recognise  myself." 

Marya  Nikolaevna  pondered,  and  glanced 
about  her. — "  It  strikes  me  that  I  know  this  spot. 
Look  behind  that  spreading  oak,  Sanin,  and  see 
whether  a  red  wooden  cross  stands  there,  or  not." 

Sanin  stepped  a  few  paces  to  one  side.—"  Yes, 
it  is  there." 

Marya  Nikolaevna  smiled.— "  Ah,  good!  I 
know  where  we  are.  We  are  not  lost  yet.  What 
is  that  tapping ?    A  wood-cutter?  " 

Sanin  peered  into  the  thicket. — "  Yes  .... 
Yonder  is  some  man  chopping  dry  branches." 

"  I  must  put  my  hair  in  order," — said  Marya 
Nikolaevna. — "  If  I  don't,  and  am  seen,  I  shall 
be  censured."  She  took  oiF  her  hat,  and  began 
to  plait  her  long  tresses.  Sanin  stood  in  front 
of  her.  .  .  .  Her  graceful  limbs  were  clearly  de- 
fined under  the  dark  folds  of  cloth,  to  which,  here 
and  there,  filaments  of  moss  adhered. 

One  of  the  horses  suddenly  shook  itself  behind 
Sanin;  he  himself  involuntarily  trembled  from 
head  to  foot.  Everything  in  him  was  in  utter 
confusion — his  nerves  were  tense  as  guitar- 
strings.  Truly  had  he  said  that  he  did  not  know 
himself.  .  .  .  He  really  was  bewitched.  His 
whole  being  was  full  of  one  ....  one  thought, 
one  desire.  Marya  Nikolaevna  darted  a  piercing 
glance  at  him.    "  Now,  then,  everything  is  as  it 

224 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

should  be," — she  said,  putting  on  her  hat. 
"  Won't  you  sit  down?  Yonder!  No;  wait .... 
don't  sit  down.    What  's  that?  " 

Through  the  crests  of  the  trees,  through  the 
air  of  the  forest,  rolled  a  dull  vibration. 

"Can  that  be  thunder?" 

*'  Apparently,  it  is  thunder,"— replied  Sanin. 

"  Akh,  yes,  this  is  a  feast-day!  simply  a  feast- 
day!  That  was  the  only  thing  that  was  lack- 
ing!"— A  dull  roar  resounded  once  again, 
rose— and  fell  in  a  -peal.— ''  Bravo!  Bis!  Do 
you  remember  I  was  telling  you  last  night  about 
the  iEneid?  The  thunder  caught  them  in  the 
forest  also,  you  know.  But  we  must  go." — She 
rose  hastily  to  her  feet. — "Lead  up  my  horse. 
.  .  .  Hold  out  your  hand.  That  's  it.  I  am 
not  heavy." 

She  soared  into  her  saddle  like  a  bird.  Sanin 
also  mounted  his  horse. 

"  Are  you  going  home?  " — he  asked,  in  an  un- 
steady voice. 

"Yes— home!!"  she  replied,  slowly,  gath- 
ering up  her  reins. — "Follow  me," — she  com- 
manded, almost  roughly. 

She  rode  out  upon  the  road,  and  passing  the 
red  cross,  descended  into  a  hollow,  reached  the 
cross-roads,  turned  to  the  right,  and  began  again 
to  ascend. . . .  She  evidently  knew  whither  the  road 
led — and  the  road  led  deeper,  ever  deeper,  into 
the  fastnesses  of  the  forest.     She  said  nothing, 

225 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

and  did  not  look  behind  her ;  she  moved  on  impe- 
riously in  advance— and  he  followed  her  obedi- 
ently and  meekly,  without  a  shadow  of  will  in  his 
sinking  heart.  A  fine  rain  began  to  drizzle  down. 
She  hastened  the  gait  of  her  horse,  and  he  kept 
up  with  her.  At  last,  athwart  the  dark  verdure 
of  the  fir-shrubs,  from  beneath  a  projection  of  a 
grey  cliff,  there  peeped  out  at  him  a  wretched 
watchman's  hut,  with  a  low-browed  door  in  the 
wattled  wall.  .  .  .  Marya  Nikolaevna  made  her 
horse  force  its  way  through  the  bushes,  sprang 
off— and,  finding  herself  suddenly  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  hut,  she  turned  to  Sanin— and 
whispered :  "  ^neas ! " 

Four  hours  later,  Marya  Nikolaevna  and  Sanin, 
accompanied  by  the  groom,  who  was  dozing  in  his 
saddle,  returned  to  Wiesbaden,  to  the  hotel.  Mr. 
PolozofF  met  his  wife,  holding  in  his  hands  the 
letter  to  the  steward.  But  after  having  scruti- 
nised her  more  attentively,  he  expressed  on  his 
countenance  a  certain  dissatisfaction — and  even 
muttered:— "  Can  it  be  that  I  have  lost  my 
wager? " 

Marya  Nikolaevna  merely  shrugged  her  shoul- 
ders. 

And  on  that  same  day,  two  hours  later,  Sanin 
stood  before  her,  in  his  own  room,  like  a  dis- 
tracted, a  ruined  man.  .  .  . 

226 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

"  Whither  art  thou  going?  "—she  asked  him. 
"  To  Paris,  or  to  Frankfurt?  " 

"  I  am  going  where  thou  wilt  be— and  I  shall 
be  with  thee,  until  thou  drivest  me  away," — he  re- 
plied, with  despair,  and  fell  to  kissing  the  hands 
of  his  sovereign.  She  released  them,  laid  them  on 
his  head— and  grasped  his  hair  with  all  ten  fin- 
gers. She  slowly  drew  her  fingers  through  and 
twisted  that  unresisting  hair,  and  drew  herself  up 
to  her  full  height:  triumph  curled  serpent-like 
about  her  lips,  and  her  eyes,  wide,  and  bright  to 
whiteness,  expressed  only  the  pitiless  stolidity  and 
satiety  of  victory.  The  hawk  which  is  clawing 
a  captured  bird  has  such  eyes. 

XLIII 

That  was  what  Dmitry  Sanin  recalled,  when, 
in  the  silence  of  his  study,  as  he  rummaged 
among  his  old  papers,  he  found  with  them  the 
little  garnet  cross.  The  events  which  we  have 
narrated  rose  clearly  and  in  their  proper  order 
before  his  mental  vision.  .  .  .  But  on  arriving 
at  the  minute  when  he  turned  with  such  a  humil- 
iating entreaty  to  Madame  Polozoff,  when  he 
threw  himself  in  self -surrender  beneath  her  feet, 
when  his  servitude  began, — he  turned  away  from 
the  images  which  he  had  evoked,  he  did  not  wish 
to  recall  anything  further.  Not  that  his  mem- 
ory had   played   him   false — oh,   no!   he   knew, 

227 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

he  knew  but  too  well,  what  had  followed  that 
minute,  but  shame  stifled  him;  even  now,  so 
many  years  afterward,  he  was  frightened  by 
the  feeling  of  invincible  scorn  for  himself,  which 
would,  inevitably, — of  that  he  could  have  no 
doubt — surge  in  upon  him  and  drown,  like  a 
flood,  all  other  sensations,  the  moment  he  should 
cease  to  bid  his  memory  to  hold  its  peace.  But 
turn  away  as  he  would  from  the  rising  memories, 
he  could  not  wholly  stifle  them.  He  remembered 
the  abominable,  tearful,  lying,  pitiful  letter 
which  he  had  despatched  to  G^mma,  and  which 
had  remained  unanswered.  .  .  .  iPresent  himself 
before  her,  return  to  her,  after  such  a  deception, 
after  such  treachery — no!  no!  he  had  enough  con- 
science and  honour  left  in  him  for  that.  More- 
over, he  had  lost  all  confidence  in  himself,  all 
respect  for  himself;  he  dared  not  vouch  for  any- 
thing. Sanin  also  recalled  how,  later  on,  he— oh, 
disgrace!— had  sent  P61ozoff"s  lackey  for  his 
things  in  Frankfurt,  how  cowardly  he  had  been, 
how  he  had  thought  only  of  one  thing:  to  go 
away  to  Paris  as  promptly  as  possible— to  Paris; 
how,  at  the  bidding  of  Marya  Nikolaevna,  he  had 
fawned  on  and  humoured  Ippolit  Sidoritch — and 
had  been  amiable  to  Donhof,  on  whose  finger  he 
noticed  precisely  the  same  sort  of  iron  ring  which 
Marya  Nikolaevna  had  given  to  him!  !  !  Then 
the  memories  became  still  worse,  still  more  shame- 
ful. ...  A  waHer  hands  him  a  visiting-card, 

228 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

and  on  it  stands  the  name  of  Pantaleone  Cippa- 
tola,  Court  Singer  to  his  Royal  Highness  the 
Duke  of  Modena!  He  hides  from  the  old  man, 
but  cannot  avoid  encountering  him  in  the  corri- 
dor— and  there  rises  up  before  him  the  incensed 
face,  beneath  the  upward-curling  grey  crest;  the 
aged  eyes  flame  like  coals  of  fire — and  menacing 
exclamations  and  curses:  " Maledizione!"  and 
even  terrible  words  become  audible :  "  Codardo! 
Infame  traditore!"—^2Lmn  screws  up  his  eyes, 
shakes  his  head,  turns  away  again  and  again — 
and  nevertheless,  he  beholds  himself  sitting  in 
the  travelling-carriage,  on  the  narrow  front  seat. 
....  On  the  back  seats,  the  comfortable  seats, 
sit  Marya  Nikolaevna  and  Ippolit  Sidoritch— 
four  horses  are  proceeding  at  a  brisk  trot  over  the 
pavements  of  Wiesbaden— to  Paris!  to  Paris! 
Ippolit  Sidoritch  is  eating  a  pear,  which  he, 
Sanin,  has  peeled,  and  Marya  Nikolaevna  is  look- 
ing at  him — and  laughing  with  that  sneering 
laugh  which  is  already  familiar  to  him,  the  en- 
slaved man,— the  sneering  laugh  of  a  sovereign 
owner.  .  .  . 

But,  oh,  my  God!  yonder,  at  the  corner  of  the 
street,  not  far  from  the  egress  from  the  town,  is 
not  that  Pantaleone  standing  there  again— and 
who  is  it  with  him?  Can  it  be  Emilio?  Yes, 't  is 
he,  that  enthusiastic,  devoted  lad!  Not  long  ago 
his  youthful  heart  was  worshipping  before  its 
hero,  its  ideal— but  now,  his  pale,  handsome  face 

229 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

—so  handsome  that  Marya  Nikolaevna  observed 
it,  and  even  thrust  her  head  out  of  the  carriage- 
window — his  noble  face  is  blazing  with  wrath 
and  scorn;  his  eyes — how  like  those  eyes! — are 
eagerly  riveted  upon  Sanin,  and  his  lips  are  com- 
pressed . .  .  and  suddenly  open,  to  emit  insult .... 

And  Pantaleone  stretches  forth  his  hand,  and 
points  out  Sanin — to  whom?  to  Tartaglia,  who 
is  standing  by,  and  Tartaglia  barks  at  Sanin— 
and  the  very  bark  of  the  honest  dog  rings  out 
like  an  intolerable  affront.  ...  'T  is  monstrous ! 

And  then — that  sojourn  in  Paris — and  all  the 
humiliations,  all  the  loathsome  tortures  of  the 
slave,  who  is  not  permitted  to  be  jealous,  or  to 
complain,  and  who  is  finally  discarded,  like  a 
worn-out  garment.  .  .  . 

Then— the  return  to  his  native  land,  the  poi- 
soned, devastated  life,  the  petty  bustle,  the  petty 
cares,  repentance  bitter  and  fruitless — and  for- 
getfulness  equally  bitter  and  fruitless — a  pun- 
ishment not  evident,  but  incessant  and  of  every 
moment,  like  an  insignificant  but  incurable  pain, 
paying  off,  kopek  by  kopek,  a  debt  which  cannot 
be  calculated.  .  .  . 

The  cup  is  filled  to  overflowing— enough! 

How  had  the  little  cross,  given  to  Sanin  by 
Gemma,  escaped,  why  had  not  he  sent  it  back, 
how  had  it  happened  that,  until  that  day,  he  had 
never  even  once  come  across  it?    Long,  long  did 

230 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

he  sit  immersed  in  thought— and  already  taught 
by  experience,  in  the  course  of  all  those  years, 
he  still  was  not  able  to  comprehend  how  he  could 
have  abandoned  Gemma,  whom  he  so  tenderly 
and  passionately  loved,  for  a  woman  whom  he 
did  not  love  at  all!  .  .  .  On  the  following  day, 
he  astonished  all  his  friends  and  acquaintances: 
he  announced  to  them  that  he  was  going  abroad. 
The  surprise  extended  to  society.  Sanin  quit 
Petersburg  in  the  heart  of  winter,  after  having 
just  hired  and  furnished  a  capital  apartment, 
and  even  subscribed  to  the  performances  of  the 
Italian  opera,  in  which  Madame  Patti  herself — 
Madame  Patti  herself,  herself,  herself! — was 
taking  part!  His  friends  and  acquaintances 
were  puzzled.  But  people,  in  general,  do  not  oc- 
cupy themselves  for  long  with  other  people's  af- 
fairs, and  when  Sanin  set  out  for  foreign  parts, 
no  one  but  his  French  tailor  went  to  the  railway 
station  to  see  him  off — and  that  in  the  hope  of  re- 
ceiving payment  for  his  little  account— "^^  pour  un 
saute-en-harque  en  velours  noir,  tout  a  fait  chic" 

XLIV 

Sanin  had  told  his  friends  that  he  was  going 
abroad— but  he  had  not  told  them  precisely 
where.  The  reader  will  easily  divine  that  he  jour- 
neyed straight  to  Frankfurt.  Thanks  to  the 
universal  diffusion  of  railways,  he  was  in  Frank- 

231 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

furt  on  the  fourth  day  after  his  departure  from 
Petersburg.  He  had  not  visited  it  since  the  year 
1840.  The  "White  Swan"  inn  stood  on  its 
former  site,  although  it  was  no  longer  regarded 
as  first-class.  The  Zeil,  the  principal  thorough- 
fare of  Frankfurt,  had  undergone  little  altera- 
tion, but  not  only  was  there  no  trace  of  Signora 
Roselli's  house — the  very  street  in  which  her  con- 
fectionery shop  had  stood  had  disappeared.  Sa- 
nin  roamed  like  a  half-witted  person  about  the 
localities  which  he  had  once  known  so  well — and 
recognised  nothing;  the  former  buildings  had 
vanished;  they  had  been  superseded  by  new 
streets,  lined  with  huge,  close-set  houses,  with 
elegant  villas ;  even  the  public  park,  where  his  last 
explanation  with  Gemma  had  taken  place,  had 
grown  up  and  changed  to  such  an  extent  that 
Sanin  asked  himself — is  it  really  the  same  park? 
What  was  there  for  him  to  do  ?  How  and  where 
was  he  to  make  inquiries?  Thirty  years  had 
passed  since  then.  .  .  It  was  no  easy  affair !  No 
matter  to  whom  he  applied — no  one  had  even 
heard  the  name  of  Roselli.  The  landlord  of  the 
inn  counselled  him  to  make  inquiries  at  the  public 
library;  there  he  would  find  all  the  old  news- 
papers, but  what  advantage  he  would  derive 
therefrom  the  landlord  himself  could  not  ex- 
plain. Sanin,  in  despair,  inquired  about  Herr 
Kliiber.  That  name  was  well  known  to  the  land- 
lord,—but  here,  also,  he  was  unsuccessful.     The 

232 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

elegant  clerk,  after  having  made  considerable 
noise  in  the  world,  and  risen  to  the  vocation  of 
a  capitalist,  had  failed  in  business,  become  bank- 
rupt, and  died  in  jail.  .  .  .  This  news  did  not, 
however,  cause  Sanin  the  slightest  pain.  He  had 
already  begun  to  regard  his  trip  as  rather  fool- 
ish ...  .  but,  lo,  one  day,  as  he  was  turning 
over  the  Frankfurt  directory,  he  came  upon  the 
name  of  von  Donhof,  retired  major  (Major 
a.  D.).  He  immediately  summoned  a  carriage, 
and  drove  to  him — although  why  should  tJiis  von 
Donhof,  infallibly,  be  that  von  Donhof,  and  why 
even  should  that  von  Donhof  be  able  to  impart 
to  him  any  news  about  the  Roselli  family? 
Never  mind ;  a  drowning  man  clutches  at  a  straw. 
Sanin  found  the  retired  Major  von  Donhof 
at  home — and  in  the  grizzled  gentleman  who  re- 
ceived him,  he  immediately  recognised  his  former 
antagonist.  And  the  latter  recognised  him,  and 
even  rejoiced  at  his  appearance.  It  reminded 
him  of  his  youth — and  his  youthful  pranks.  Sa- 
nin heard  from  him  that  the  Roselli  family  had, 
long  since,  emigrated  to  America,  to  New  York ; 
that  G^mma  had  married  a  merchant;  that  he, 
Donhof,  moreover,  had  an  acquaintance,  who  was 
also  a  merchant,  who  probably  knew  the  hus- 
band's address,  as  he  had  large  dealings  with 
America.  Sanin  asked  Donhof  to  go  to  that  ac- 
quaintance— and — oh,  joy!— Donhof  brought 
him  the  address  of  Gemma's  husband,  ]Mr.  Jere- 

233 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

miah  Slocum,  No.  501  Broadway,  New  York. — 
Only,  the  address  was  of  the  j^ear  1863. 

"  Let  us  hope," — exclaimed  Donhof, — "  that 
our  former  Frankfurt  beauty  is  still  alive,  and 
has  not  left  New  York!  By  the  way," — he 
added,  lowering  his  voice,  "  and  how  about  that 
Russian  lady  who  was  then  staying  in  Wiesbaden, 
you  remember— Madame  von  Bo  ....  von 
BolozofF — is  she  still  alive?" 

"No,"— rephed  Sanin,— "she  died  long  ago." 
Donhof  raised  his  eyes — but,  perceiving  that 
Sanin  had  turned  away,  and  was  frowning, — he 
did  not  add  another  word— and  withdrew. 

That  very  day  Sanin  despatched  a  letter  to  Mrs. 
Gemma  Slocum,  in  New  York.  In  the  letter,  he 
told  her  that  he  was  writing  from  Frankfurt, 
whither  he  had  come,  solely  with  the  object  of 
looking  her  up;  that  he  was  fully  conscious  to 
what  a  degree  he  was  destitute  of  every  right 
to  a  reply  from  her;  that  he  in  no  way  deserved 
her  forgiveness — and  only  hoped  that  she,  amid 
the  happy  environment  in  which  she  found 
herself,  had  long  since  forgotten  his  very  exis- 
tence. He  added  that  he  had  decided  to  recall 
himself  to  her  memory,  in  consequence  of  an  ac- 
cidental occurrence,  which  had  aroused  too  viv- 
idly in  him  the  images  of  the  past;  he  told  her 
the  story  of  his  life,  solitary,  without  family,  joy- 
less; he  adjured  her  to  understand  the  causes 

234 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

which  had  impelled  him  to  address  himself  to  her, 
not  to  allow  him  to  carry  with  him  into  the  grave 
the  painful  consciousness  of  his  fault — long  since 
atoned  for  by  suffering,  but  not  forgiven — and  to 
make  him  glad  if  only  with  the  briefest  infor- 
mation as  to  what  her  life  was  like  in  that  New 
World,  whither  she  had  removed.  "  By  writing 
me  even  a  single  word," — thus  did  Sanin  wind 
up  his  letter, — "  you  will  be  doing  a  good  deed, 
worthy  of  your  beautiful  soul, — and  I  shall  thank 
you  until  my  last  breath.  I  am  stopping  here  at 
the  White  Swan  inn "  (he  underlined  these 
words)  "  and  shall  wait, — wait  until  spring  for 
your  reply." 

He  sent  off  this  letter, — and  settled  down  to 
wait.  Six  whole  weeks  did  he  Hve  in  the  inn, 
hardly  going  outside  of  his  room,  and  seeing 
absolutely  no  one.  No  one  could  write  to  him 
from  Russia,  or  from  anywhere  else;  and  that 
was  to  his  taste ;  if  a  letter  were  to  come  addressed 
to  him,  he  would  know  at  once  that  it  was  it — 
the  one  for  which  he  was  waiting.  He  read  from 
morning  until  night — and  not  newspapers,  but 
serious  books,  historical  works.  This  prolonged 
course  of  reading,  this  mute  stillness,  this  snail- 
like, hidden  existence — were  all  exactly  suited  to 
his  spiritual  mood;  and  for  this  alone,  thanks  to 
Gemma!    But  was  she  alive?  Would  she  answer? 

At  last  a  letter  arrived— bearing  an  American 
stamp— from  New  York,  addressed  to  him.    The 

235 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

handwriting  of  the  address  on  the  envelope  was 
English.  .  .  .  He  did  not  recognise  it,  and  his 
heart  contracted.  He  could  not  at  once  make 
up  his  mind  to  break  open  the  packet.  He 
glanced  at  the  signature:  "  Gemma! "  The  tears 
gushed  from  his  eyes.  The  mere  fact  that  she 
had  signed  with  her  name,  omitting  her  sur- 
name, served  him  as  a  pledge  of  reconciliation, 
of  pardon !  He  spread  out  the  thin  sheet  of  note- 
paper — a  photograph  slipped  from  it.  He  has- 
tily picked  it  up — and  was  fairly  dumfounded: 
Gemma,  the  living  G^mma,  as  young  as  he  had 
known  her  thirty  years  ago!  The  selfsame  eyes, 
the  selfsame  lips,  the  same  type  of  the  w^hole 
face!  On  the  back  of  the  photograph  was  writ- 
ten: "  My  daughter  Marianna."  The  whole  let- 
ter was  very  simple  and  affectionate.  Gemma 
thanked  Sanin  for  not  having  hesitated  to  ad- 
dress her,  for  having  had  faith  in  her.  She  did 
not  conceal  from  him,  either,  the  fact  that  she 
really  had  lived  through  painful  moments  after 
his  flight,  but  she  immediately  added  that,  never- 
theless, she  regarded— and  alw^ays  had  regarded 
— her  meeting  with  him  as  a  happiness — since  that 
meeting  had  prevented  her  becoming  the  wife 
of  Herr  Kliiber— and  so,  although  indirectly, 
it  had  been  the  cause  of  her  marriage  to  her  pres- 
ent husband,  wath  whom  she  was  now  living  for 
the  eight-and-twentieth  year,  in  complete  felicity, 
in  comfort  and  luxury.    Their  house  was  known 

236 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

to  all  New  York.  Gemma  informed  Sanin  that 
she  had  five  children— four  sons  and  one  daugh- 
ter, a  girl  of  eighteen,  engaged  to  be  married, 
whose  photograph  she  sent  him— as  she,  accord- 
ing to  universal  opinion,  greatly  resembled  her 
mother.  Gemma  kept  her  sad  news  for  the  end 
of  her  letter.  Frau  Lenore  had  died  in  New 
York,  whither  she  had  followed  her  daughter  and 
son-in-law— but  had  been  able  to  rejoice  in  their 
happiness,  and  dandle  her  grandchildren  on  her 
knee.  Pantaleone  had  also  prepared  to  go  to 
America,  but  had  died  just  before  he  was  to  have 
left  Frankfurt.  "And  Emilio— our  dear,  incom- 
parable EmiHo— died  a  glorious  death  for  the 
freedom  of  his  native  land,  in  Sicily,  whither  he 
went  among  that  '  Thousand  '  who  were  led  by 
the  great  Garibaldi;  we  all  fervently  lamented 
the  death  of  our  inestimable  brother;  but  even 
as  we  wept,  we  were  proud  of  him— and  shall  al- 
ways be  proud  of  him  and  hold  his  memory  sa- 
cred !  His  lofty,  unselfish  soul  was  worthy  of  the 
martyr's  crown!"  Then  Gemma  expressed  her 
regret  that  Sanin's  life  had— apparently— fallen 
into  such  unpleasant  places,  wished  him  first  of 
all  solace  and  spiritual  tranquillity,  and  said  that 
she  should  be  glad  to  see  him  again— although 
she  was  aware  that  such  a  meeting  was  hardly 
probable.  .  .  . 

We  will  not  undertake  to  depict  the  sensations 
experienced  by  Sanin,  on  perusing  this  letter. 

237 


SPRING  FRESHETS 

There  is  no  satisfactory  expression  for  such  feel- 
ings: they  are  deeper  and  more  sacred— and  more 
indefinite— than  any  word.  Music  alone  would 
be  competent  to  transmit  them. 

Sanin  replied  immediately— and  sent  as  a  gift 
to  the  bride— "To  Marianna  Slocum,  from  an 
unknown  friend  "—the  garnet  cross,  mounted 
on  a  magnificent  pearl  necklace.  This  gift,  al- 
though very  valuable,  did  not  ruin  him.  In  the 
course  of  the  thirty  years  which  had  elapsed  since 
his  first  sojourn  in  Frankfurt,  he  had  succeeded 
in  acquiring  a  considerable  fortune.  Early  in 
May  he  returned  to  Petersburg— but  probably 
not  for  long.  It  is  rumoured  that  he  is  selling 
off  all  his  property— and  making  ready  to  go  to 
America. 


238 


KNOCK  . . .  KNOCK  . . .  KNOCK 

A  STUDY 

(1870) 


KNOCK  . . .  KNOCK  . . .  KNOCK . . . 

A  STUDY 


WE  all  seated  ourselves  in  a  circle,  and  our 
good  friend  Alexander  Vasilievitch  Rie- 
del  (he  had  a  German  surname,  but  he  was  a  born 
and  bred  Russian)  began  as  follows: 

I  will  relate  to  you,  gentlemen,  an  incident 
which  happened  to  me  in  the  thirties  ....  forty 
years  ago,  as  you  see.  I  will  be  brief— and  you 
must  not  interrupt  me. 

I  was  living  in  Petersburg  at  the  time,  and  had 
only  just  come  out  of  the  university.  My  brother 
was  serving  in  the  horse-guard  artillery,  with  the 
rank  of  ensign.  His  battery  was  stationed  at 
Krasnoe  Selo,^— it  was  in  summer.  My  brother 
was  not  quartered  in  Krasnoe  Selo  proper,  but  in 
one  of  the  adjacent  hamlets.  I  was  his  guest 
more  than  once,  and  had  become  well  acquainted 
with  all  his  comrades.  He  was  lodged  in  a  fairly- 
clean  cottage  together  with  another  officer  be- 

1  Literally,  "  Red  Village,"  situated  sixteen  miles  from  St.  Peters- 
burg. A  summer  resort,  but  chiefly  known  as  the  site  of  the  great 
summer  camp  and  manoeuvring-ground. — Tkanslatoh. 

241 


KNOCK  .  .  ,  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

longing  to  his  battery.  This  officer's  name  was 
Tyegleff,  Ilya  Stepanitch.  I  became  particu- 
larly intimate  with  him. 

^larlinsky  has  become  old-fashioned  now;  no 
one  reads  him,  and  people  even  ridicule  him ;  but 
in  the  thirties  he  made  more  noise  than  any  one 
else,  and  Pushkin— according  to  the  ideas  of  the 
youth  of  that  period— could  not  be  compared 
with  him.  He  not  only  enjoyed  the  glory  of  be- 
ing the  leading  Russian  writer,  he  even  effected 
what  is  far  more  difficult,  and  more  rarely  en- 
countered— he  imprinted  his  stamp  upon  the  gen- 
eration contemporaneous  with  him.  Heroes  a 
la  Mdrlinshy  were  cropping  up  in  every  direc- 
tion, and  especially  among  army  and  artillery 
officers;  they  conversed  and  corresponded  in  his 
language;  in  society  they  maintained  a  gloomy, 
reticent  mien,  with  "  a  storm  in  the  soul,  and  a 
flame  in  the  blood,"  like  Lieutenant  Byelozor  of 
"  The  Frigate  Hope."  Female  hearts  were 
"  devoured  "  by  them.  The  epithet  "  fatal  "  was 
then  invented  for  them.  This  type,  as  every  one 
knows,  persisted  for  a  long  time,  until  the  date  of 
Petchorin.^  What  all  did  not  that  type  contain? 
Byronism  and  romanticism;  reminiscences  of  the 
French  Revolution  and  the  Decembrists^— and 

*  The  hero  of  LerraontofTs  famous  novel  "A  Hero  of  Qur  Times." 
— Translator. 

^  The  conspirators  who  made  trouble  on  the  accession  to  the 
throne  of  the  Emperor  Nicholas  I,  in  December,  1825.  The  Grand 
Duke  Constantine  should  have  succeeded  his  brother  Alexander  I; 
but  he  renounced  the  succession  in  order  to  marry  a  Polish  woman. 

242 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .   .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

adoration  of  Napoleon.  Faith  in  Fate,  in  one's 
star,  in  the  force  of  character,  of  pose,  and  of 
phrase— and  the  anguish  of  futihty;  the  dis- 
quieting agitations  of  petty  self-love — and  actual 
force  and  daring;  noble  aspirations,  and  bad 
bringing-up,  and  ignorance ;  aristocratic  manners 
— and  a  flaunting  of  toys.  .  .  But  enough  of 
philosophising!  ...  I  have  promised  to  narrate, 

II 

Sub-lieutenant  Tyegleff  belonged  precisely 
to  that  category  of  "  fatal "  men,  although  he  did 
not  possess  the  exterior  attributed  to  those  per- 
sons: for  example,  he  bore  not  the  slightest  re- 
semblance to  LermontoiF's  "  fatalist."  He  was 
a  man  of  medium  height,  of  decidedly  thick-set 
build,  with  high  cheek-bones,  and  fair-haired, 
almost  tow-headed;  he  had  a  round,  fresh,  red- 
cheeked  face,  a  snub-nose,  a  low  forehead  over- 
grown with  hair  on  the  temples,  and  large,  regu- 
lar lips  which  were  eternally  motionless ;  he  never 
laughed  or  even  smiled.  Only  from  time  to  time, 
when  he  was  fatigued  and  heaved  a  sigh,  did  his 
square  teeth,  white  as  sugar,  become  visible.  The 
same  artificial  impassivity  was  spread  over  all 
his  features.    Had  it  not  been  for  that  they  would 

No  one  knew  of  this  renunciation  except  the  Dowager  Empress, 
Alexander  I,  and  Constantine.  Revolutionists  took  advantage  of 
the  muddle  arising  from  Nicholas's  ignorance  of  his  rights,  and  so 
forth. — Tbanslatok. 

243 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

have  revealed  themselves  as  good-natured.  The 
only  thing  about  his  whole  face  that  was  not  per- 
fectly ordinary  was  his  eyes,  which  were  not 
large,  and  had  greenish  pupils  and  yellow  eye- 
lashes. The  right  eye  was  a  trifle  higher  up 
than  the  left,  which  imparted  to  his  gaze  a 
certain  diversity,  strangeness,  and  drowsiness. 
TyeglefF's  physiognomy  was  not  devoid,  how- 
ever, of  a  certain  agreeability,  and  almost 
always  expressed  satisfaction  with  a  dash  of 
perplexity,  just  as  though  he  were  internally  pur- 
suing some  cheerless  thought  which  he  could  not 
possibly  catch.  Notwithstanding  all  this,  he  did 
not  produce  the  impression  of  an  arrogant  per- 
son: one  would  have  taken  him  for  a  wounded 
rather  than  a  haughty  man.  He  talked  very  lit- 
tle, falteringly,  in  a  hoarse  voice,  and  with  un- 
necessary repetitions  of  words.  Contrary  to  the 
majority  of  fatalists,  he  did  not  employ  pecu- 
liarly-whimsical expressions,  and  resorted  to 
them  only  in  writing:  he  had  a  thoroughly  child- 
ish chirography. 

The  authorities  regarded  him  as  a  "  so-so  "  offi- 
cer,— not  over-capable  and  not  sufficiently  zeal- 
ous. "  He  is  punctual  but  not  methodical,"  was 
what  was  said  of  him  by  the  general  in  command 
of  the  brigade— who  was  of  German  extraction.^ 

1  The  point  is,  that  he  used  mongrel  Russian  — foreign  words 
slightly  Russified  in  form:  "  punktualnost,"  and  "  accuratnost."— 
Translator. 

2U 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

And  for  the  soldiers,  also,  TyeglefF  was  "  so-so  " 
— neither  fish  nor  meat.  He  lived  modestly,  in 
accordance  with  his  means.  He  had  been  left  a 
full  orphan  at  the  age  of  nine  j^ears:  his  father 
and  mother  had  been  drowned  in  the  spring,  in 
a  freshet,  as  they  w^ere  crossing  the  Oka  on  a 
ferry-boat.  He  had  received  his  education  in  a 
private  boarding-school,  where  he  was  consid- 
ered one  of  the  very  stupidest  and  most  peace- 
able pupils.  He  had  entered  the  horse-guard 
artillery  at  his  own  importunate  desire,  and  on 
the  recommendation  of  his  great-uncle,  an  in- 
fluential man,  as  yiinker,  and  had  passed  the  ex- 
aminations—though with  difficulty— first  for 
ensign  and  then  for  sub-lieutenant.  His  rela- 
tions with  the  other  officers  were  strained.  They 
did  not  like  him  and  visited  him  rarely,  and  he 
w^ent  to  hardly  any  one.  The  presence  of  stran- 
gers embarrassed  him;  he  immediately  became 
unnatural,  awkward  ....  there  was  no  comrade- 
ship in  him,  and  he  called  no  one  "  thou,"  and  was 
called  "  thou  "  by  no  one.  But  he  was  respected; 
and  men  respected  him  not  for  his  character  or 
his  brains  and  culture,  but  because  they  recog- 
nised in  him  that  special  seal  wherewith  "  fatal  " 
people  are  stamped.  "  Tyegleff  will  have  a  ca- 
reer; Tyegleff  will  distinguish  himself"— not 
one  of  his  comrades  expected  that; — but  "  Tyeg- 
leff will  cut  up  some  remarkable  caper,"  or 
"  Tyegleff  will  take  and  suddenly  turn  out  a 

245 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

Napoleon  "—was  not  regarded  as  improbable. 
For  there  the  "  star  "  came  into  play,  and  he  was 
a  man  "with  a  predestination"— as  there  are 
people  "  with  a  sigh  "  and  "  with  a  tear." 

Ill 

Two  incidents  which  marked  the  very  beginning 
of  his  service  as  an  officer  aided  greatly  in  firmly 
establishing  his  reputation  as  a  man  of  fate. 
Namely:  on  the  very  first  day  after  he  was  pro- 
moted—about the  middle  of  March— he  was 
walking  along  the  quay  in  full  uniform,  in  com- 
pany with  other  officers  who  had  just  been  re- 
leased from  examination.  That  year  spring  had 
come  early,  the  Neva  had  broken  up;  huge  floes 
of  ice  had  already  passed  down,  but  the  whole 
river  was  dammed  with  fine,  dense  ice  soaked  with 
water.  The  young  men  were  chatting  and  laugh- 
ing .  .  .  when  suddenly  one  of  them  stopped 
short;  he  had  descried  on  the  slowly -moving  sur- 
face of  the  river,  about  twenty  paces  from  the 
shore,  a  tiny  dog.  Having  clambered  upon  a 
projecting  block  of  ice,  it  was  trembling  all  over 
and  whining.  "  Why,  it  will  surely  perish," — 
said  the  officer  through  his  teeth.  The  dog  was 
being  carried  slowly  past  one  of  the  descents  con- 
structed along  the  quay.  Suddenly  Tyegleff, 
without  saying  a  word,  ran  down  that  descent, 
and  leaping  along  over  the  thin  ice,  tumbling 

246 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

and  skipping,  he  reached  the  dog,  seized  it  by  its 
neck,  and,  having  regained  the  shore  in  safety, 
flung  it  on  the  pavement.  The  danger  to  which 
TyeglefF  had  exposed  himself  was  so  great,  his 
deed  had  been  so  unexpected,  that  his  comrades 
were  fairly  petrified  with  astonishment,  and  only 
w^hen  he  called  a  drozhky,  in  order  to  drive  home, 
did  they  begin  to  speak  all  together.  His  whole 
uniform  was  wet.  In  reply  to  their  exclamations, 
Tyegleff  remarked  indifferently  that  a  man 
cannot  avoid  what  is  written  in  his  fate — and 
ordered  the  cabman  to  drive  on. 

"  But  take  the  dog  with  thee  as  a  memento," 
—shouted  one  of  the  officers  after  him.  But 
Tyegleff  merely  waved  his  hand,  and  his  com- 
rades exchanged  glances  of  dumb  amazement. 

The  other  incident  occurred  a  few  days  later, 
at  a  card-party  given  by  the  commander  of  the 
battery.  Tyegleff  was  sitting  in  a  corner,  and 
was  not  taking  part  in  the  game.  "  Ekh,  if  onlj^ 
my  grandmother  had  told  me  in  advance  which 
cards  were  destined  to  win,  as  in  Pushkin's 
'  Queen  of  Spades ' ! " — exclaimed  one  of  the  en- 
signs, who  had  dropped  his  third  thousand.  Tyeg- 
leff silently  stepped  up  to  the  table,  took  up  the 
pack  of  cards,  cut,  and  saying:  "  The  six  of  dia- 
monds!"— turned  up  the  pack.  On  the  bottom 
was  the  six  of  diamonds.—"  The  ace  of  clubs!  " 
— he  proclaimed,  and  cut  again.  On  the  bottom 
was  the  ace  of  clubs.—"  The  king  of  diamonds!  " 

247 


KXOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

— he  spoke  for  the  third  time,  in  an  energetic 
whisper,  through  his  set  teeth.  He  had  guessed 
right  for  the  third  time  ....  and  suddenly 
flushed  crimson  all  over.  Probably  he  himself 
had  not  expected  it. 

"A  capital  trick!  Show  us  another,"— re- 
marked the  batter\^  commander. 

"  I  do  not  deal  in  tricks,"  replied  Tyegleff, 
drily,  and  went  out  into  the  adjoining  room. 
How  it  came  about  that  he  managed  to  guess  the 
card  in  advance,  I  will  not  undertake  to  explain, 
but  I  saw  it  with  my  own  eyes.  After  him  many 
of  the  players  present  tried  to  do  the  same  thing, 
and  no  one  succeeded.  A  man  could  guess  one 
card,  but  two  cards  in  succession — not  by  any 
means;  while  Tyegleff  had  guessed  three!  This 
affair  still  further  confirmed  his  reputation  as 
a  mysterious  man  of  fate.  The  thought  fre- 
quently occurred  to  me  afterward  that  if  his  trick 
with  cards  had  not  proved  successful,  who  knows 
what  turn  his  reputation  would  have  taken,  and 
how  would  he  have  looked  upon  himself?  But 
that  unexpected  success  definitively  settled  the 
matter. 

IV 

Naturally,  TyeglefF  immediately  clutched 
hold  of  that  reputation.  It  conferred  upon  him 
special  importance,  special  colouring.  .  .  "  Cela 

248 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  ,  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

le  posait/^— as  the  French  saj^— and  with  his  lim- 
ited mind,  insignificant  attainments,  and  vast  con- 
ceit, such  a  reputation  was  exactly  to  his  taste. 
To  acquire  it  was  difficult,  but  it  cost  nothing  to 
maintain  it:  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  hold  his 
tongue  and  look  ferocious. 

But  it  was  not  in  consequence  of  this  reputa- 
tion that  I  became  intimate  with  TyeglefF  and,  I 
may  say,  conceived  an  affection  for  him.  I 
loved  him,  in  the  first  place,  because  he  w  as  a  well- 
bred  eccentric,  and  I  saw  in  him  a  kindred  soul; 
and,  in  the  second  place,  because  he  was  a  kind 
man  and,  in  reality,  very  simple-hearted.  He  in- 
spired me  with  something  in  the  nature  of  com- 
passion; it  seemed  to  me  that,  setting  aside  his 
fancied  fatalism,  a  tragic  fate  really  was  impend- 
ing over  him  which  he  himself  did  not  suspect. 
As  a  matter  of  course,  I  did  not  mention  that 
feeling  to  him.  Can  there  be  anything  more  in- 
sulting to  a  "  man  of  destiny  "  than  compassion? 
And  Tyegleff  felt  a  liking  for  me :  he  was  at  his 
ease  with  me,  he  conversed  with  me,— in  my  pres- 
ence he  used  to  make  up  his  mind  to  abandon 
that  strange  pedestal  upon  which  he  had  acci- 
dentally half  fallen,  half  clambered.  Although, 
torturingly,  painfully  conceited,  it  may  be  he  ad- 
mitted, in  the  bottom  of  his  soul,  that  his  conceit 
was  in  no  way  justifiable,  and  that  others  were,  in 
all  probability,  looking  down  upon  him  ....  while 
I,  a  lad  of  nineteen,  did  not  embarrass  him.    The 

249 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

fear  of  saying  something  stupid  or  inappropri- 
ate did  not  contract  his  ever-watchful  heart  in 
my  presence.  He  even  fell  into  loquacity  at 
times;  and  lucky  it  was  for  him  that  no  one  ex- 
cept myself  heard  his  speeches!  His  reputation 
would  not  have  lasted  long.  He  not  only  knew 
very  little,— he  hardly  read  anything,  and  con- 
fined himself  to  picking  up  appropriate  anec- 
dotes and  stories.  He  believed  in  forebodings, 
predictions,  signs,  meetings ;  in  lucky  and  unlucky 
days,  in  the  persecution  or  benignity  of  fate,— in 
the  significance  of  life,  in  one  word.  He  even 
believed  in  certain  "climacteric  years"  which  some 
one  had  mentioned  in  his  presence,  and  the  mean- 
ing whereof  he  did  not  thoroughly  understand. 
Genuine  men  of  destiny  should  not  express  such 
beliefs :  they  must  inspire  other  people  with  them. 
.  .  .  But  I  alone  knew  TyeglefF  from  that  side. 


V 

One  day— it  was  on  St.  Ilya's  day,  July  20,^ 
I  remember — I  went  to  visit  my  brother  and  did 
not  find  him  at  home;  he  had  been  ordered  oif 
somewhere  for  a  whole  week.  I  did  not  wish 
to  return  to  Petersburg.  I  trudged  about  the 
neighbouring  marshes  with  my  gun,  killed  a  brace 

*  Or  Elijah,  on  August  2,  N.  S.  Generally  on  that  day  there  are 
terrific  thunder-storms,  which  the  Russian  people  say  are  caused  by 
the  prophet  ascending  to  heaven  in  his  fiery  chariot. — Translator. 

250 


K^^OCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

of  woodcock,  and  passed  the  evening  with  Tyeg- 
lefF  under  the  shed  of  an  empty  wagon-house,  in 
which  he  had  set  up,  as  he  expressed  it,  his  sum- 
mer residence.  We  chatted  about  various  things, 
but  chiefly  drank  tea,  smoked  our  pipes,  and 
talked  now  with  the  landlord,  a  Russified  Finn, 
now  with  a  pedlar  who  was  roaming  around  the 
battery,  a  seller  of  "goo-o-od  'ranges  and  lem- 
ons," a  nice  fellow  and  droll,  who,  in  addition  to 
other  talents,  knew  how  to  play  on  the  guitar,  and 
told  us  about  the  unhappy  love  which  he  had 
cherished  in  "  babyhood  "  ^  for  the  daughter  of  a 
policeman.  On  attaining  maturity  this  Don 
Juan  in  a  shirt  of  cotton  print  had  no  longer  ex- 
perienced any  unfortunate  attachments. 

In  front  of  the  gate  of  our  wagon-shed  a  broad 
ravine  spread  out,  which  gradually  grew  deeper 
and  deeper;  a  tiny  rivulet  sparkled  in  places  in 
the  windings  of  the  rift.  Further  away,  on  the 
horizon,  low  forests  were  visible.  Night  ap- 
proached and  we  were  left  alone.  Along  with 
the  night  there  descended  upon  the  earth  a  thin, 
damp  vapour  which,  spreading  more  and  more 
widely,  was  eventually  converted  into  a  dense  fog. 
The  moon  rose  in  the  sky;  the  whole  fog  became 
permeated  through  and  through,  and  gilded,  as 
it  were,  by  its  rays.  Everything  was  transposed, 
muffled  up  and  entangled,  as  it  were;  the  distant 

1  The  pedlar  is,  evidently,  a  Jew,  and  gets  his  words 
mixed. — Translator. 

251 


KXOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KXOCK  .  .  . 

appeared  near,  the  near  distant,  the  large  ap- 
peared small,  the  small  large  ....  everj^thing 
became  bright  and  indistinct.  We  seemed  to 
have  been  transported  into  a  faiiy  realm,  to  the 
realm  of  whitish-gold  fog,  of  profound  stillness, 
of  sensitive  sleep.  .  .  .  And  how  mysteriously, 
wath  what  silvery  sparks,  did  the  stars  pierce 
through  overhead!  We  both  fell  silent.  The 
fantastic  aspect  of  that  night  took  effect  upon 
us:  it  attuned  us  to  the  fantastic. 

VI 

Tyegleff  was  the  first  to  speak,  with  his  custom- 
ary hitches,  breaks,  and  repetitions,  about  fore- 
bodings ....  about  visions.  On  just  such  a 
night,  according  to  his  statement,  one  of  his  ac- 
quaintances, a  student  who  had  just  entered  on 
his  duties  as  governor  to  two  orphans,  and  had 
been  lodged  with  them  in  a  separate  pavilion,  had 
beheld  a  female  figure  bending  over  their  beds, 
and  on  the  following  day  had  recognised  that  fig- 
ure in  a  portrait,  hitherto  unperceived  by  him, 
which  depicted  the  mother  of  those  same  orphans. 
Then  Tyegleff  declared  that  his  parents,  for  the 
space  of  several  days  before  their  death,  had 
constantly  thought  they  heard  the  sound  of 
water;  that  his  grandfather  had  escaped  death 
in  the  battle  of  Borodino,  through  having  seen  a 
white  pebble  on  the  ground  and  stooped  to  pick  it 

252 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

up— and  at  that  same  moment  a  grape-shot  had 
flown  past  over  his  head  and  broken  off  his  long 
black  plume.  Tyegleff  even  promised  to  show 
me  that  same  pebble  which  had  saved  his  grand- 
father, and  had  been  inserted  by  him  in  a  locket. 
Then  he  alluded  to  the  vocation  of  every  man, 
and  his  own  in  particular,  adding  that  he  believed 
in  it  up  to  that  moment,  and  that  if  at  any  time 
doubts  should  arise  within  him  concerning  it,  he 
would  know  how  to  rid  himself  of  them  and  of 
his  life,  for  life  would  then  have  lost  all  signifi- 
cance for  him.  "Perhaps  you  think"— said  he, 
casting  a  sidelong  glance  at  me — "that  I  have 
not  sufficient  courage  for  that  ?  You  do  not  know 
me.  ...  I  have  an  iron  will." 

"Well  said," — I  thought  to  myself. 

Tyegleff  became  thoughtful,  heaved  a  deep 
sigh,  and  dropping  his  pipe  from  his  hand,  he  in- 
formed me  that  that  was  an  important  day  for 
him. — "This  is  St.  Ilya's  day, — my  name-day. 
....  This  ....  this  is  always  a  painful  time 
for  me." 

I  made  no  reply  and  merely  stared  at  him  as  he 
sat  in  front  of  me,  bent  double,  round-shouldered, 
clumsy,  with  sleepy  and  gloomy  gaze  riveted  on 
the  ground. 

"To-day" — he  went  on — "an  old  beggar-wo- 
man "  (Tyegleff  never  let  a  single  beggar  pass 
him  without  bestowing  alms)  "told  me  that  she 
would  pray  for  my  soul.  ...  Is  n't  that  strange?  " 

253 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

"  What  possesses  a  man  to  worry  about  himself 
all  the  time?  "—I  thought  to  myself.  But  I  am 
bound  to  add  that  of  late  I  had  begun  to  notice 
an  unusual  expression  of  anxiety  and  trepidation 
on  TyeglefF's  face,  and  it  was  not  the  melan- 
choly of  a  man  of  destiny;  something  was  really 
distressing  and  torturing  him.  On  this  occasion, 
also,  I  was  struck  by  the  despondency  which  was 
spread  over  his  features.  Could  it  be  that  those 
doubts  to  which  he  had  alluded  were  already  be- 
ginning to  arise  within  him?  TyeglefF's  com- 
rades had  told  me  that  not  long  before  he  had 
handed  to  the  authorities  a  project  for  certain 
thorough  reforms  "  connected  with  the  gun- 
carriages,"  and  that  that  project  had  been 
returned  to  him  "  with  an  inscription,"  that  is 
to  say,  with  a  reproof.  Knowing  his  character, 
I  did  not  doubt  that  such  scorn  on  the  part 
of  the  authorities  had  wounded  him  deeply. 
But  that  which  I  discerned  in  TyeglefF  was 
more  akin  to  sadness,  had  a  more  personal 
tinge. 

"  But  it  is  growing  damp," — he  suddenly  said, 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  Let  us  go  into  the 
cottage— and  it  is  time  to  go  to  bed." 

He  had  a  habit  of  twitching  his  shoulders  and 
turning  his  head  from  side  to  side,  exactly  as 
though  his  neckcloth  were  too  tight,  clutching  at 
his  throat  the  while.  Tyegleff's  character  was 
expressed— at  least,  so  it  seemed  to  me— in  that 

254 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

anxious  and  nervous  motion.  Things  were  tod 
tight  for  him  in  the  world  also. 

We  returned  to  the  cottage  and  lay  down,  each 
of  us  on  the  wall-bench — he  in  the  fair  corner,^ 
I  in  the  front  corner,  on  hay,  which  we  had  spread 
out. 

VII 

Tyegleff  tossed  about  restlessly  for  a  long  time 
on  his  bench,  and  I  could  not  get  to  sleep.  Whe- 
ther it  was  that  his  stories  had  excited  my  nerves, 
or  that  that  night  had  irritated  my  blood,  I  do 
not  know;— only,  I  could  not  get  to  sleep.  Every 
desire  for  sleep  even  vanished  at  last,  and  I  lay 
with  wide-open  eyes  and  thought,— thought  in- 
tently, God  knows  about  what:  about  the  veriest 
nonsense,  as  is  always  the  case  during  an  attack 
of  insomnia.  As  I  tossed  from  side  to  side  I  threw 
out  my  arms.  .  .  .  My  finger  came  in  contact 
with  one  of  the  wall  beams.  A  faint,  but  reso- 
nant and  prolonged  sound  rang  out.  ...  I  must 
have  hit  upon  a  hollow  place. 

Again  I  tapped  with  my  finger  ....  this 
time  intentionally.  The  sound  was  repeated.  I 
did  it  again.  .  .  .  Suddenly  Tyegleff  raised  his 
head. 

"Riedel," — he  said, — "listen;  some  one  is 
knocking  under  the  window." 

1  The  comer  in  which  the  holy  pictures  hang— the  right-hand 
further  corner,  facing  the  entrance  door.— Thanslatob. 

255 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

I  feigned  to  be  asleep.  I  was  suddenly  seized 
with  the  whim  to  make  sport  of  my  "  fatal "  com- 
panion. It  made  no  diiFerence— I  could  not 
sleep. 

He  dropped  his  head  on  his  pillow.  I  waited 
a  little  and  again  tapped  three  times  in  succes- 
sion. 

Again  Tyegleff  rose  up  and  began  to  listen. 

I  knocked  again.  I  was  lying  with  my  face 
toward  him,  but  he  could  not  see  my  hand.  .  .  . 
I  had  thrown  it  backward,  under  the  coverlet. 

"  Riedel !  "—shouted  Tyegleff. 

I  did  not  respond. 

"Riedel!  "-he  repeated  loudly.— "  Riedel  I  " 

"Hey?  What  is  it?"  I  said,  as  though  only 
half  awake. 

"  Don't  you  hear?  Some  one  is  knocking 
under  the  window.  Shall  we  ask  him  into  the 
cottage? " 

"  Some  wayfarer  "...  I  faltered. 

"  Then  we  must  admit  him,  or  find  out  what 
sort  of  man  he  is ! " 

But  I  did  not  reply  again,  and  again  feigned 
to  be  asleep. 

Several  minutes  passed.  .  .  .  Again  I  began 
my  tricks.  .  .  . 

"Knock  ....  knock  ....  knock!  .  .  ." 

Through  my  half-closed  eyelids,  by  the  whit- 
ish nocturnal  light,  I  could  observe  his  move- 
ments well.     He  kept  turning  his  face  now  to- 

256 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

ward  the  window,  now  toward  the  door.  In  fact, 
it  was  difficult  to  distinguish  whence  the  sound 
proceeded:  it  seemed  to  fly  around  the  room,  as 
though  it  were  sHpping  along  the  walls.  I  had 
accidentally  hit  upon  the  acoustic  chord. 

"Knock  ....  knock  ....  knock!  .  .  ." 

"Riedel!"  shouted  Tyegleff  at  last.-"  Rie- 
del!    Riedel!" 

"  Why,  what  is  it?  "—I  said,  yawning. 

"Is  it  possible  that  you  hear  nothing?  Some 
one  is  knocking." 

"  Well,  God  be  with  him— I  want  nothing  to 
do  with  him!"— I  replied,  and  again  pretended 
that  I  had  fallen  asleep.    I  even  snored.  .  .  . 

Tyegleff  quieted  down. 

"  Knock  ....  knock  ....  knock!  .  .  ." 

"  Who  's  there?  "-shouted  Tyegleff.-"  Come 
in!" 

As  a  matter  of  course,  no  one  answered. 

"Knock  ....  knock  ....  knock!  .  .  ." 

Tyegleff  sprang  out  of  bed,  opened  the  win- 
dow, and  thrusting  out  his  head,  inquired  in  a 
fierce  voice :  "  Who  's  there?  Who  is  knocking? " 
Then  he  opened  the  door  and  repeated  his  ques- 
tion. A  horse  neighed  in  the  distance— and  that 
was  all. 

He  returned  to  his  bed.  .  .  . 

"  Knock  ....  knock  ....  knock!  .  .  ." 

Tyegleff  instantly  turned  over  and  sat  up. 

"  Knock  ....  knock  ....  knock!  .  .  ." 

257 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

TyeglefF  promptly  pulled  on  his  boots,  threw 
his  cloak  over  his  shoulders,  and  unhooking  his 
sword  from  the  wall,  went  out  of  the  cottage.  I 
heard  him  make  the  circuit  of  it  twice,  asking  all 
the  while:  "Who  's  there?  Who  goes  there? 
Who  is  knocking  there?  "  Then  he  suddenly  fell 
silent,  stood  for  a  while  on  one  spot  in  the  street 
not  far  from  the  corner  where  I  was  lying,  and 
without  uttering  another  word  returned  to  the 
cottage  and  lay  down  without  undressing. 

"  Knock  ....  knock  ....  knock!  ..."  I  began 
again.    "  Knock  ....  knock  ....  knock! .  .  ." 

But  TyeglefF  did  not  stir,  did  not  inquire: 
"Who  is  knocking?"  He  merely  propped  his 
head  on  his  hand. 

Perceiving  that  that  was  no  longer  effective, 
after  a  little  while  I  pretended  to  wake  up,  and, 
after  casting  a  glance  at  TyeglefF,  I  assumed  a 
surprised  aspect. 

"Have  you  been  out  anywhere?"— I  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  indifferently. 

"Did  you  continue  to  hear  the  knocking?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  met  no  one?  " 

"  No." 

"And  has  the  knocking  stopped?" 

"  I  don't  know.    It  makes  no  difFerence  to  me 


now." 


"  Now?    Why  precisely  now? 
TyeglefF  did  not  answer. 

258 


>> 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

I  felt  rather  conscience-stricken  and  vexed  at 
him.  Nevertheless,  I  could  not  make  up  my 
mind  to  avow  my  prank. 

"  See  here,"  I  began: — "  I  am  convinced  that 
the  whole  thing  is  merely  your  imagination." 

TyeglefF  scowled.—"  Ah?     So  you  think!  " 

"  You  say  that  you  heard  a  knock.  ..." 

**  I  did  not  hear  a  knock,  only,"  he  interrupted 
me. 

"  What  else  did  you  hear?  " 

TyeglefF  swayed  forward — and  bit  his  lips. 

"  They  have  called  me!  "  he  articulated  at  last, 
in  a  low  tone,  as  he  turned  away  his  face. 

"They  have  called  you?  Who  has  called 
you? " 

"  A  .  .  .  ." — TyeglefF  continued  to  gaze  to  one 
side — "  a  being  concerning  whom  I  only  assumed 
up  to  this  moment  that  it^  was  dead.  .  .  .  But 
now  I  know  it  for  a  certainty." 

"  I  swear  to  you,  Ilya  Stepanitch,"  I  ex- 
claimed, "  that  that  is  all  mere  imagination!  " 

"Imagination?"  he  repeated.  "Would  you 
like  to  convince  yourself  in  earnest? " 

"  I  would." 

"  Well,  then,  let  us  go  out  into  the  street." 

*  The  first  "  a  "  is  feminine.  The  "  it  "  is  to  agree  with  TyegleiFs 
non-committal  "  being,"  which  is  of  the  neuter  gender.— Trans- 
lator. 


259 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 


VIII 

I  HASTILY  dressed  myself  and  with  Tyegleff  went 
out  of  the  cottage.  Opposite  it,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street,  there  were  no  houses,  but  a 
long  wattled  fence  stretched  out,  with  breaches 
here  and  there,  behind  which  began  a  decidedly- 
steep  descent  to  the  plain.  The  fog,  as  before, 
enveloped  all  objects,  and  hardly  anj^thing 
could  be  seen  at  a  distance  of  twenty  paces. 
TyeglefF  and  I  walked  to  the  wattled  fence  and 
halted. 

"  Here  now,"  he  said,  dropping  his  head. 
"  Stand  still,  be  silent— and  listen! "  Like  him,  I 
bent  my  ear,  and  save  the  usual,  extremely  faint 
but  universal  nocturnal  hum — that  breathing  of 
the  night— I  heard  nothing.  From  time  to  time 
exchanging  a  glance,  we  stood  there  motionless 
for  several  minutes— and  were  already  preparing 
to  move  on  ...  . 

"  Iliusha!  "  I  thought  I  heard  a  whisper  from 
the  other  side  of  the  fence. 

I  glanced  at  Tyegleff,  but  he  appeared  not  to 
have  heard  anything,  and  held  his  head  down- 
cast as  before. 

"  Iliusha  ....  hey,  Iliusha  .  .  .  ."  resounded 
more  plainly  than  before— so  plainly  that  one 
could  understand  that  those  words  were  uttered 
by  a  woman. 

260 


KNOCK  .  .  .KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

We  both  gave  a  start— and  stared  at  each 
other. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that?  "  TyeglefF  asked 
me,  in  a  whisper.    "  You  will  not  doubt  now?  " 

*'  Stay,"  I  said  to  him,  with  equal  softness,— 
"that  proves  nothing  as  yet.  We  must  look 
and  see  if  there  is  not  some  one  there— some 
jester.  ..." 

I  leaped  over  the  fence,  and  walked  in  the 
direction  whence,  so  far  as  I  was  able  to  judge, 
the  voice  had  proceeded. 

Under  my  feet  I  felt  the  soft,  porous  earth; 
long  strips  of  vegetable-beds  lost  themselves  in 
the  fog.  I  was  in  a  vegetable-garden.  But  no- 
thing stirred  around  me,  or  in  front  of  me. 
Everything  seemed  to  be  sunk  in  the  numbness  of 
sleep.     I  advanced  a  few  paces  further. 

"  Who  is  there? "  I  shouted  to  match  TyeglefF. 

"Pr-r-r-r!"  A  startled  quail  darted  out  from 
under  my  very  feet,  and  flew  away,  as  straight  as 
a  bullet.  I  involuntarily  recoiled.  .  .  .  What 
nonsense!  I  glanced  back.  TyeglefF  was  visi- 
ble on  the  selfsame  spot  where  I  had  left  him. 
I  approached  him. 

"  It  will  be  useless  for  you  to  call,"  he  said. 
"  That  voice  has  reached  us  ...  .  me  .  .  .  from 
afar." 

He  passed  his  hand  over  his  face,  and  with 
quiet  steps  wended  his  way  across  the  street 
homeward.    But  I  would  not  give  in  so  quickly, 

261 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

and  returned  to  the  vegetable-garden.  That 
some  one  had  actually  called  "  Iliiisha  "  thrice  I 
could  not  cherish  the  slightest  doubt;  I  was  also 
forced  to  admit  to  myself  that  there  had  been 
something  plaintive  and  mysterious  in  that  call. 
.  .  .  .  But,  who  knows?  Perhaps  all  that  only 
seemed  incomprehensible,  but  in  reaUty  could  be 
explained  as  simply  as  the  knocking  which  had 
agitated  TyeglefF. 

I  walked  along  the  wattled  fence,  pausing  and 
looking  around  me  from  time  to  time.  Close  to 
the  fence  and  not  far  from  our  cottage  grew  an 
aged,  bushy  white  willow ;  it  stood  out  as  a  huge 
black  spot  in  the  midst  of  the  universal  whiteness 
of  the  fog,  of  that  dim  whiteness  which  blinds 
and  dulls  the  vision  worse  than  darkness.  Sud- 
denly I  thought  something  of  considerable  size, 
something  living,  rolled  over  on  the  ground  near 
that  willow.  With  the  exclamation:  "  Halt! 
Who  is  there?  "  I  dashed  forward.  Light  foot- 
steps like  those  of  a  hare  became  audible;  past 
me  flitted  a  figure  all  bent  double,  whether  of 
man  or  woman  I  could  not  distinguish.  ...  I 
tried  to  seize  it,  but  did  not  succeed,  stumbling 
and  falling  and  burning  my  face  in  the  nettles. 
Rising  half-way  and  propping  myself  with  my 
elbow  on  the  ground,  I  felt  something  hard  under 
my  arm;  it  was  a  small  carved  brass  comb  on  a 
string,  like  those  which  our  peasants  wear  in  their 
belts. 

262 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

Further  researches  on  my  part  proved  vain, 
and  comb  in  hand  and  with  nettle-burned  cheeks 
I  returned  to  the  cottage. 

IX 

I  FOUND  Tyegleff  sitting  on  the  wall-bench.  In 
front  of  him  on  the  table  burned  a  candle,  and  he 
was  engaged  in  writing  something  in  a  small 
album  which  he  carried  constantly  with  him.  On 
catching  sight  of  me,  he  hastily  thrust  the  tiny 
album  into  his  pocket  and  began  to  fill  his  pipe. 

"Here,  my  dear  fellow," — I  began, — "see 
what  a  trophy  I  have  brought  back  from  my 
campaign ! "  I  showed  him  the  little  comb  and  told 
him  what  had  happened  to  me  under  the  willow. 
—  "I  must  have  scared  a  thief,"  I  added.  "  Did 
you  hear  that  our  neighbour  had  had  a  horse 
stolen  last  night?  " 

Tyegleff  smiled  coldly  and  lighted  his  pipe.  I 
sat  down  by  his  side. 

"  And  you  are  still  convinced,  as  before,  Ilya 
Stepanitch," — I  said, — "  that  the  voice  which  we 
heard  had  flown  hither  from  those  unknown  re- 
gions .  .  .  ." 

He  stopped  me  with  an  imperious  gesture  of 
his  hand. 

"  Riedel,"  he  began,—"  I  am  in  no  mood  for 
jesting,  and  therefore  I  beg  that  you  will  not  jest 
either." 

263 


KNOCK  .  ,  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

Tyegleff  really  was  in  no  mood  for  jesting. 
His  face  had  undergone  a  change.  It  seemed 
paler,  more  expressive.  His  strange,  "  mis- 
matched "  eyes  roved  quietly.  "  I  did  not  think," 
he  began  again, — "  that  I  should  ever  commu- 
nicate to  another  ....  another  man  that  which 
you  are  about  to  hear,  and  which  should  have 
died  ....  yes,  died  in  my  breast;  but,  evi- 
dently, it  is  necessary — and  I  have  no  choice. 
'T  is  fate!    Listen." 

And  he  communicated  to  me  the  whole  story. 

I  have  already  told  you,  gentlemen,  that  he 
was  a  bad  narrator;  but  he  impressed  me  that 
night  not  alone  by  his  ignorance  of  how  to  im- 
part to  me  the  events  which  had  happened  to  him : 
the  very  sound  of  his  voice,  his  looks,  the  move- 
ments which  he  made  with  his  fingers  and  hands 
—everything  about  him,  in  a  word,  seemed  un- 
natural, unnecessary,— spurious,  in  short.  I  was 
still  very  young  and  inexperienced,  and  did  not 
know  that  the  habit  of  expressing  one's  self  in  a 
rhetorical  way,  falsity  of  intonation  and  man- 
ners, may  so  corrode  a  man  that  he  is  no  longer 
able  to  rid  himself  of  it.  It  is  a  curse,  in  its  way. 
I  lately  happened  to  meet  a  certain  lady  who  nar- 
rated to  me  with  such  bombastic  language,  with 
such  theatrical  gestures,  with  such  a  melodra- 
matic shaking  of  the  head  and  rolling  up  of  the 
eyes,  the  impression  produced  on  her  by  the  death 
of  her  son,  her  "immeasurable  grief,"  her  fears 

264) 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

for  her  own  reason,  that  I  thought  to  myself: 
"How  that  lady  is  lying  and  putting  on  airs! 
She  did  not  love  her  son  at  all!"  But  a  week 
later  I  learned  that  the  poor  woman  actually  had 
gone  out  of  her  mind.  Ever  since  then  I  have 
been  much  more  cautious  in  my  judgments,  and 
have  trusted  much  less  to  my  own  impressions. 

X 

The  story  which  Tyegleff  narrated  to  me  was, 
briefly,  as  follows:— In  Petersburg— in  addition 
to  his  uncle,  the  dignitary— dwelt  an  aunt  of  his, 
not  a  woman  of  great  position,  but  possessed  of 
property.  As  she  was  childless,  she  had  adopted 
a  little  girl,  an  orphan  from  the  petty-burgher 
class,  had  given  her  a  suitable  education,  and 
treated  her  like  a  daughter.  The  girl's  name  was 
Masha.  TyeglefF  had  been  in  the  habit  of  seeing 
her  almost  every  day.  It  ended  in  their  falling 
in  love  with  each  other,  and  Masha  gave  herself 
to  him.  This  came  to  light.  TyeglefF's  aunt 
flew  into  a  frightful  rage,  turned  the  unhappy 
girl,  in  disgrace,  out  of  her  house,  and  removed 
her  residence  to  Moscow,  where  she  took  a  young 
lady  of  the  gentry  as  her  nursling  and  heiress. 
On  returning  to  her  former  relations,  poor  and 
drunken  people,  Masha  endured  a  bitter  fate. 
Tyeglefl*  had  promised  to  marry  her— and  did  not 
keep  his  promise.     On  the  occasion  of  his  last 

265 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

meeting  with  her  he  was  compelled  to  state  his 
intentions.  Masha  wanted  to  learn  the  truth— 
and  she  got  it. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  if  I  am  not  to  be  thy  wife, 
then  I  know  what  remains  for  me  to  do."  More 
than  a  fortnight  had  elapsed  after  this  last  meet- 
ing. 

"  Not  for  one  minute  have  I  deceived  myself 
as  to  the  meaning  of  her  last  words,"  added  Tyeg- 
lefF.  "  I  am  convinced  that  she  has  put  an  end 
to  her  life,  and  ....  and  that  that  was  her 
voice,  that  she  was  calling  me  thither  ....  after 
her.  ...  I  recognised  her  voice.  .  .  .  Well, 
't  is  all  the  same  in  the  end! " 

"  But  why  did  not  you  marry  her,  Ilya  Stepa- 
nitch?  "  I  asked.    "  Had  you  ceased  to  love  her?  " 

"  No ;  to  this  hour  I  love  her  passionately." 

At  this  point,  gentlemen,  I  stared  with  all  my 
might  at  Tyegleff.  I  called  to  mind  another  of 
my  acquaintances,  a  very  intelligent  man  who, 
being  the  possessor  of  an  extremely  ill-favoured, 
stupid,  and  not  wealthy  wife,  in  reply  to  the  ques- 
tion I  had  put  to  him:  "Why  had  he  married? 
Probably  for  love?  "—had  replied:  "  Not  in  the 
least  for  love!  But  it  just  happened  so!  "  But 
here  was  TyeglefF  passionately  fond  of  a  girl 
and  did  not  marry.  Well  then?  And  here 
also  had  it  "just  happened  so!" 

"  Why  don't  you  marry?  "  I  asked  him  the  sec- 
ond time. 

266 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .   .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

TyeglefF's  somnolently-strange  eyes  wandered 
over  the  table. 

"  That  ....  cannot  be  told  ....  in  a  few 
words,"  he  began  hesitatingly.  "  There  were 
reasons.  .  .  .  And  besides,  she  ....  is  of  the 
burgher  class.  Well,  and  my  uncle  ....  I  had 
to  take  him  into  consideration." 

"  Your  uncle?  "  I  cried.  "  But  what  the  devil 
do  you  care  for  your  uncle,  whom  you  only  see  on 
New  Year's  Day,  when  you  go  to  present  your 
congratulations?  Are  you  reckoning  on  his 
wealth?  Why,  he  has  about  a  dozen  children  of 
his  own! " 

I  spoke  with  heat.  .  .  .  TyegleiF  winced,  and 
blushed  .  .  .  blushed  unevenly,  in  spots.  .  .  . 
"  I  beg  that  you  will  not  read  me  a  lecture,"  he 
said  dully.  "  However,  I  do  not  defend  myself. 
I  have  ruined  her  life,  and  now  I  must  pay  the 
debt.  ..." 

He  dropped  his  head  and  fell  silent.  I  also 
found  nothing  to  say. 

XI 

Thus  we  sat  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  He  stared 
to  one  side  and  I  stared  at  him— and  noticed  that 
the  hair  above  his  brow  had  risen  in  a  peculiar 
sort  of  way  and  was  curling  in  rings,  which,  ac- 
cording to  the  remark  of  a  military  doctor, 
through  whose  hands  had  passed  many  wounded, 

267 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  ,  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

always  serves  as  a  sign  of  a  strong,  dry  fever  in 
the  brain.  .  .  .  Again  it  occurred  to  me  that  the 
hand  of  Fate  really  did  weigh  upon  this  man,  and 
that  not  without  cause  had  his  comrades  perceived 
in  him  something  fatal.  And  at  the  same  time 
I  inwardly  condemned  him.  "  Of  the  burgher 
class! "  I  thought.  "  But  do  you  call  yourself  an 
aristocrat?" 

"  Perhaps  you  condemn  me,  Riedel,"  began 
TyeglefF,  suddenly,  as  though  di\dning  my 
thoughts.  "  I  am  greatly  distressed  myself  .... 
greatly  distressed.  But  what  can  I  do?  What 
can  I  do?  " 

He  leaned  his  chin  on  his  palm  and  began  to 
gnaw  the  broad,  flat  nails  of  his  short,  red  fingers, 
which  were  as  hard  as  iron. 

"  I  am  of  the  opinion,  Ilya  Stepanitch,  that  you 
should  first  make  sure  whether  your  surmises  are 
correct.  .  .  .  Perhaps  your  lady-love  is  alive  and 
well."  ("  Shall  I  tell  him  the  real  cause  of  the 
knocking?  "  flashed  through  my  mind.  .  .  .  "No 
— later  on.") 

"  She  has  not  written  to  me  a  single  time  since 
we  have  been  in  camp,"  remarked  Tyegleff. 

"  That  proves  nothing,  Ilya  Stepanitch." 

TyegleiF  waved  his  hand  in  despair.— "  No  1 
She  certainly  is  no  longer  on  earth.  She  has 
called  me.  ..." 

He  suddenly  turned  his  face  toward  the  win- 
dow.—" Some  one  is  knocking  again! " 

268 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

I  involuntarily  burst  out  laughing. — "  You 
must  excuse  me,  Ilya  Stepanitch !  This  time  it  is 
your  nerves.  Dawn  is  breaking,  as  you  see.  In 
ten  minutes  the  sun  will  rise;  it  is  already  after 
three  o'clock,  and  visions  do  not  act  in  daylight." 

TyeglefF  darted  at  me  a  gloomy  glance,  and 
muttering  between  his  teeth,  "  Farewell,  sir,"  he 
threw  himself  down  on  the  bench  and  turned  his 
back  on  me. 

I  also  lay  down,— and  I  remember  that,  before 
I  fell  asleep,  I  meditated  as  to  why  Tyegleff  had 
kept  hinting  at  his  intention  to  take  his  own  life. 
"  What  nonsense,  what  phrase-making!  He  has 
voluntarily  refrained  from  marrying.  .  .  .  He 
has  abandoned  the  girl  ....  and  now,  all  of  a 
sudden,  he  wants  to  kill  himself!  There  is  no 
human  sense  in  that!  He  cannot  keep  from 
showing  off ! " 

Thus  thinking,  I  fell  into  a  very  sound  sleep, 
and  when  I  opened  my  eyes,  the  sun  already  stood 
high  in  the  heavens,  and  Tyegleff  was  not  in  the 
cottage.  .  .  . 

According  to  his  servant's  statement,  he  had 
gone  away  to  the  town. 

XII 

I  SPENT  a  very  wearisome,  irksome  day.  Tyeg- 
leff did  not  return  either  to  dinner  or  to  supper. 
I  did  not  expect  my  brother.    Toward  evening  a 

269 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

thick  fog,  worse  than  that  of  the  preceding  day, 
spread  over  everything.  I  lay  down  to  sleep  quite 
early.    A  knock  under  the  window  awoke  me. 

My  turn  had  come  to  start. 

The  knock  was  repeated— and  with  such  insis- 
tent clearness  that  it  was  impossible  to  doubt  its 
reality.  I  rose,  opened  the  window,  and  perceived 
Tyegleff .  Wrapped  in  his  military  cloak,  with 
his  forage-cap  pulled  down  over  his  eyes,  he  was 
standing  motionless. 

"  Ilya  Stepanitch!  "  I  exclaimed, — "  is  it  you? 
We  had  given  up  expecting  you.  Come  in.  Is 
the  door  locked  ?  " 

Tyegleff  shook  his  head  in  negation. — "  I  do 
not  intend  to  enter,"  he  said  dully. — "  I  merely 
wish  to  ask  you  to  transmit  this  letter  to  the 
commander  of  the  battery  to-morrow  morning." 

He  held  out  to  me  a  large  envelope  sealed  with 
five  seals.  I  was  amazed,  but  mechanically  took 
the  envelope.  Tyegleff  immediately  walked  off 
to  the  middle  of  the  street. 

"  Wait,  wait,"  I  began.  ..."  Whither  are 
you  going?  Have  you  only  just  arrived?  And 
what  is  this  letter?  " 

"  Do  you  promise  to  deliver  it  at  its  address?  " 
said  Tyegleff,  retreating  several  paces  further. 
The  fog  began  to  shroud  the  outlines  of  his  figure. 
— "  Do  you  promise  ?  " 

"  I  promise  .  .  .  but  first  ....'* 

Tyegleff  retreated  still  further— and  became 

270 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

a  dark,  oblong  spot.  — "  Farewell!  "  rang  out  his 
voice.  "  Farewell,  Riedel,  remember  me  kindly. 
.  .  .  And  don't  forget  Semyon  .  .  .  ."  And 
even  the  spot  disappeared. 

This  was  too  much!  "  O  cursed  phrase- 
maker!"  I  thought.  "Why  must  thou  always 
be  striving  for  effect?  "  But  I  was  alarmed, 
nevertheless.  Involuntary  terror  oppressed  my 
breast.  I  threw  on  my  cloak  and  ran  out  into  the 
street. 

XIII 

Yes;  but  in  what  direction  was  I  to  go?  The  fog 
enveloped  me  on  all  sides.  One  could  see  through 
it  a  little  for  five  or  six  paces,  but  further  than 
that  it  was  fairly  piled  up  like  a  wall,  porous  and 
white,  like  wadding.  I  turned  to  the  right,  along 
the  street  of  the  hamlet  which  ended  just  there; 
our  cottage  was  the  last  one  on  the  verge,  and 
beyond  it  began  the  empty  plain,  here  and  there 
overgrown  with  bushes.  Beyond  the  plain,  a 
quarter  of  a  verst  distant  from  the  hamlet,  there 
was  a  birch  coppice,  and  through  it  ran  the  same 
smaU  stream  which  lower  down  made  a  loop 
around  the  village.  All  this  I  knew  well,  because 
I  had  many  times  beheld  it  all  by  daylight;  but 
now  I  could  see  nothing,  and  could  only  guess, 
from  the  greater  density  and  whiteness  of  the 
fog,  where  the  land  descended  and  the  little  river 
flowed.     In  the  sky,  like  a  pale  spot,  hung  the 

271 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

moon,  but  its  light  was  not  strong  enough,  as  on 
the  preceding  night,  to  conquer  the  smoky  com- 
pactness of  the  fog,  which  hung  aloft  like  a  broad, 
faint  canopy.  I  made  my  way  out  on  the  plain 
and  began  to  listen.  .  .  .  Not  a  sound  anywhere 
except  the  whistling  of  the  woodcock. 

"  TyegleiF!  "  I  shouted.  "  Ilya  Stepanitch!  I 
TyeglefF!!" 

My  voice  died  away  around  me  without  a  re- 
sponse; it  seemed  as  though  the  very  fog  would 
not  permit  it  to  go  further.  "  TyeglefF!  "  I  re- 
peated. 

No  one  answered. 

I  advanced  at  haphazard.  Twice  I  came  in  con- 
tact with  the  wattled  fence,  once  I  almost  tumbled 
into  a  ditch,  and  I  all  but  stumbled  over  a  peas- 
ant's horse  which  was  lying  on  the  ground.  .  .  . 
"Tyegleff!    TyeglefF !"  I  shouted. 

Suddenly  behind  me,  very  close  at  hand  in- 
deed, I  heard  a  low  voice:  —  "  Well,  here  I  am. 
....  What  do  you  want  with  me?  " 

I  wheeled  swiftly  round. 

In  front  of  me,  with  pendent  arms,  and  with 
no  cap  on  his  head,  stood  TyeglefF.  His  face  was 
pale,  but  his  eyes  appeared  animated  and  larger 
than  usual.  .  .  .  He  was  inhaling  long,  slow 
breaths  through  his  parted  lips. 

"  God  be  thanked !  "  I  cried,  in  an  outburst  of 
joy,  seizing  him  by  both  hands.  ..."  God  be 
thanked!     I  was  already  despairing  of  finding 

272 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

you.  And  are  n't  you  ashamed  of  giving  me  such 
a  fright?    Good  gracious,  Ilya  StepanitchI  " 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me?  "  repeated  Tyeg- 
leff. 

"  I  want  ...  I  want,  in  the  first  place,  that 
you  shall  return  home  with  me.  And,  in  the 
second  place,  I  wish,  I  demand— I  demand  of 
you,  as  of  a  friend,  that  you  shall  immediately 
explain  to  me  the  meaning  of  your  behaviour— 
and  this  letter  to  the  colonel.  Has  anything  un- 
expected happened  to  you  in  Petersburg?  " 

"  In  Petersburg  I  found  precisely  what  I  had 
expected,"  replied  TyeglefF,  still  not  stirring 
from  the  spot. 

"  That  is  ...  .  you  mean  to  say  ....  your 
friend  ....  that  Masha  .  .  .  ." 

"  She  took  her  own  life,"— interposed  Tyeg- 
leff,  hurriedly,  and  as  though  viciously.  "  She 
was  buried  the  day  before  yesterday.  She  did  not 
leave  even  a  note  for  me.    She  poisoned  herself." 

Tyegleff  hastily  blurted  out  these  dreadful 
words,  and  still  stood  motionless,  as  though  made 
of  stone. 

I  clasped  my  hands. — "  Is  it  possible?  What 
a  misfortune!  Your  presentiment  came  true. 
.  .  .  This  is  frightful!" 

I  fell  silent  in  confusion.  TyeglefF  quietly, 
and  as  though  solemnly,  folded  his  arms. 

"But  why  do  we  stand  here?  "  I  began.  "  Let 
us  go  home." 

273 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

"  Let  us  go,"  said  TyeglefF.  "  But  how  are 
we  to  find  the  way  in  this  fog?  " 

"  There  is  a  hght  burning  in  the  windows  of 
your  cottage;  we  will  guide  ourselves  by  that. 
Come  along." 

"  Do  you  walk  ahead,"  rephed  TyeglefF.  "  I 
will  follow  you." 

We  set  out.  For  five  minutes  we  walked — and 
our  guiding  light  did  not  show  itself;  at  last  it 
beamed  out  a  couple  of  paces  ahead  of  us  in  two 
red  spots.  TyeglefF  walked  behind  me  with  mea- 
sured tread.  I  was  frightfully  anxious  to  get 
home  as  promptly  as  possible  and  learn  from  him 
the  particulars  of  his  unhappy  trip  to  Petersburg. 
Stunned  by  what  he  had  told  me,  in  a  fit  of  re- 
pentance and  partly  of  superstitious  dread,  I  con- 
fessed to  him  before  we  reached  the  cottage  that 
I  had  produced  the  mysterious  knocking  of  the 
night  before  .  .  .  and  what  a  tragic  turn  that 
jest  had  taken! 

TyeglefF  confined  himself  to  the  remark  that  I 
counted  for  nothing  in  the  matter, — that  my  hand 
had  been  guided  by  something  else, — and  that 
that  only  proved  how  little  I  knew  him.  His  voice, 
strangely  quiet  and  even,  sounded  directly  in  my 
ear.—"  But  you  will  learn  to  know  me,"  he  added. 
"  I  saw  you  smile  yesterday  when  I  alluded  to 
my  strength  of  will.  You  will  learn  to  know  me 
— and  you  will  recall  my  words." 

The  first  cottage  in  the  village  surged  up  in 

274 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

front  of  us  out  of  the  fog,  like  some  dark  mon- 
ster ....  and  now  the  second  started  forth, 
our  cottage  started  forth — and  my  setter  hound, 
probably  scenting  me,  began  to  bark. 

I  knocked  at  the  window.— "  Semyon! "— I 
shouted  to  Tyegleff's  servant:— "  hey,  there, 
Semyon !  Open  the  gate  to  us  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible!" 

The  gate  clanged  and  opened ;  Semyon  stepped 
across  the  threshold. 

"  Pray,  enter,  Ilya  Stepanitch,"  I  said,  glan- 
cing round.  .  .  . 

But  there  was  no  longer  any  Ilya  Stepanitch 
behind  me,  Tyegleff  had  disappeared  as  though 
the  earth  had  swallowed  him. 

I  entered  the  cottage  like  a  man  bereft  of  his 
reason. 

XIV 

Vexation  at  Tyegleff,  at  myself,  superseded  the 
amazement  which  at  first  took  possession  of  me. — 
"  Thy  master  is  crazy!"  I  said,  darting  at  Se- 
myon—"  downright  crazy!  He  galloped  off  to 
Petersburg,  then  he  came  back — and  now  he  is 
running  about  at  random!  I  caught  him,  and 
brought  him  to  the  very  gate— and  suddenly, 
bang!  he  has  taken  to  his  heels  again!  The  idea 
of  not  staying  at  home  on  such  a  night !  A  pretty 
time  he  has  chosen  for  a  ramble!  " 

275 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

"  And  why  did  I  let  go  of  his  hand? "  I  re- 
proached myself. 

Semyon  stared  in  silence  at  me,  as  though  pre- 
paring to  say  something,  but,  in  accordance  with 
the  habits  of  servants  in  those  days,  he  merely 
shifted  from  foot  to  foot  a  little. 

"  At  what  o'clock  did  he  go  off  to  the  city?  "  I 
inquired  severely. 

"  At  six  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

"  And  how  did  he  seem— troubled,  sad?  " 

Semyon  cast  down  his  eyes. — "  Our  master — is 
queer,"  he  began.  "  Who  can  understand  him?— 
When  he  was  preparing  to  go  to  the  city,  he 
ordered  me  to  give  him  his  new  uniform;  well, 
and  he  curled  himself,  also." 

"  How  curled  himself?  " 

*'  Curled  his  hair.    I  fixed  the  tongs  for  him." 

I  must  confess  that  I  had  not  anticipated  this. 
— "  Art  thou  acquainted  with  a  young  lady,"  I 
asked  Semyon, — "  a  friend  of  Ilya  Stepanitch's, 
named  Masha? " 

"Of  course  I  know  Marya  Anempodistovna ! 
She  's  a  nice  young  lady." 

"  Thy  master  was  in  love  with  that  Marya  .... 
and  so  forth."  • 

Semyon  heaved  a  sigh. — "  It  's  on  account  of 
that  young  lady  that  Ilya  Stepanitch  will  go  to 
destruction.  He  loves  her  frightfully— and  he 
can't  make  up  his  mind  to  take  her  as  his  spouse 
—and  he  's  sorry  to  abandon  her,  too.     That 

276 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

comes  from  his  lack  of  courage.  He  's  awfully 
fond  of  her." 

"  And  what  is  she  like— pretty? "  I  inquired 
curiously. 

Semyon  assumed  a  serious  aspect.—"  Gentle- 
men like  such  as  she." 

*'  And  is  she  to  thy  taste?  " 

"  For  us  ...  .  she  is  not  suited— not  at  all." 

"  Why  not? " 

"  She  's  very  thin  in  body." 

"  If  she  were  to  die,"  I  began  again,—"  would 
Ilya  Stepanitch  survive  her,  thinkest  thou?  " 

Again  Semyon  heaved  a  sigh.—"  I  dare  not  say 
that— that  's  the  master's  aiFair.  .  .  .  Only,  our 
master— is  queer!  " 

I  took  from  the  table  the  large  and  fairly  thick 
letter  which  TyeglefF  had  given  to  me,  and  turned 
it  about  in  my  hands.  .  .  .  The  address  to  "  His 
High-Born,  Mr.  Battery  Commander,  Colonel 
and  Cavalier,"  with  name,  patronymic  and  sur- 
name indicated,  was  very  distinctly  and  care- 
fully written.  In  the  upper  corner  of  the  en- 
velope stood  the  word:  "  Important,"  twice  un- 
derlined. 

"  Hearken,  Semyon,"  I  began.  "  I  'm 
afraid  for  thy  master.  He  seems  to  have  evil 
thoughts  in  his  head.  We  must  find  him  without 
fail." 

"  I  obey,  sir,"  replied  Semyon. 

"  There  is  such  a  fog  outdoors  that  one  can 

277 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

distinguish  nothing  two  arshins  ^  off,  it  is  true ; 
but  never  mind,  we  must  make  the  effort.  We 
will  each  take  a  lantern,  and  we  will  light  a  candle 
in  each  window — in  case  of  need." 

*'  I  obey,  sir,"  repeated  Semyon.     He  lighted 
the  lanterns  and  the  candles  and  we  set  out. 

XV 

How  he  and  I  wandered  about,  how  entangled  we 
became,  it  is  impossible  to  convey  to  you!  The 
lanterns  did  not  help  us  in  the  least ;  they  did  not 
in  the  slightest  degree  disperse  that  white,  almost 
luminous  mist  which  surrounded  us.  Semyon 
and  I  lost  each  other  several  times  apiece,  despite 
the  fact  that  we  kept  exchanging  calls,  shouting 
"  a-oo!  "  and  I  kept  crying  out:  "  Tyegleff !  Ilya 
Stepanitch!"  and  he:  "  Mr.  Tyegleff!  YourWell- 
Born!  " — The  fog  threw  us  off  the  track  to  such 
a  degree  that  we  roamed  about  as  though  in  our 
sleep ;  both  of  us  speedily  grew  hoarse :  the  damp- 
ness penetrated  to  the  very  bottom  of  our  lungs. 
We  met  again,  by  some  means,  thanks  to  the 
lights  in  the  windows  at  the  cottage.  Our  com- 
bined explorations  had  led  to  nothing,— we  had 
merely  hampered  each  other,— and  therefore  we 
decided  not  to  think  any  more  of  how  to  avoid 
getting  separated,  but  that  each  of  us  should  go 

1  The  arshfn — the  Russian  yard-measure — is  twenty-eight 
inches  in  length.— Thanslatoe. 

278 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  '. 

his  own  road.  He  went  to  the  left,  I  to  the  right, 
and  I  soon  ceased  to  hear  his  voice.  The  fog 
seemed  to  have  made  its  way  into  my  very  brain, 
and  I  wandered  about  hke  a  dazed  person,  merely 
shouting:  "  Tyegleff !    TyeglefF!  " 

"  Here!  "  suddenly  rang  out  in  response. 

Heavens!  How  delighted  I  was!  How  I 
rushed  in  the  direction  where  I  had  heard  the 
voice!  ....  A  human  figure  loomed  up  black 
ahead  of  me.  ...  I  darted  at  it.  .  .  .  At  last ! 

But  instead  of  TyeglefF  I  beheld  before  me 
another  officer  of  the  same  battery  named  Telep- 
nefF." 

"  Was  it  you  who  answered  me?  "  I  asked  him. 

*'  And  were  you  calling  me? "  he  inquired,  in 
his  turn. 

"  No;  I  was  calling  TyeglefF." 

"  TyeglefF?  Why,  I  met  him  only  a  moment 
ago.  What  an  absurd  night!  It  is  utterly  im- 
possible to  find  one's  way  home." 

"You  saw  TyeglefF?  In  which  direction  was 
he  going? " 

"  In  that  direction— I  think."  The  officer 
passed  his  hand  through  the  air.—"  But  now  it  is 
impossible  to  understand  anything.  For  exam- 
ple, do  you  know  where  the  village  is?  The  only 
salvation  is  if  a  dog  should  begin  to  bark.  An 
abominable  night,  is  n't  it?  Allow  me  to  light 
a  cigar  ....  it  will  seem  to  illuminate  the 
road." 

279 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

The  officer  was  a  little  tipsy,  so  far  as  I  could 
make  out. 

"  Did  not  Tyegleff  say  anything  to  you?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Certainly  he  did!  '  How  art  thou,  brother? ' 
says  I  to  him.  And  he  says  to  me :  '  Fare- 
well, brother! '—*  Farewell?  Why  farewell?'— 
'  Why,'  says  he,  '  I  'm  going  to  shoot  m'self  with 
pistol 's  very  minute.'    A  queer  fellow !  " 

I  gasped  for  breath.— "You  say  that  he  told 
you  .  .  .  ." 

"  A  queer  fellow! "  repeated  the  officer,  as  he 
strode  away  from  me. 

Before  I  could  recover  from  the  officer's  an- 
nouncement, my  own  name,  several  times  repeated 
in  a  violent  shout,  struck  my  ear.  I  recognised 
Semyon's  voice. 

I  responded.  .  .  .  He  approached  me. 

XVI 

"  Well,  what  is  it?  "  I  asked  him.  "  Hast  thou 
found  Ilya  Stepanitch? " 

"  I  have,  sir." 

"Where?" 

"  Yonder,  not  far  from  here." 

"  How  didst  thou  ....  find  him?  Is  he 
alive? " 

"Certainly;  I  conversed  with  him."  (My 
heart  was  lightened.)     "He  is  sitting  under  a 

280 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

small  birch-tree,  in  his  cloak  ....  and  he  's  all 
right.  I  reported  to  him :  '  Please  come  to  your 
quarters,  Ilya  Stepanitch,"  says  I,  '  Alexander 
Vasilitch  is  very  uneasy  about  you.'  But  he  says 
to  me : '  What  possesses  him  to  be  uneasy  ?  I  want 
to  be  in  the  fresh  air.  My  head  aches.  Go  home,' 
says  he.    '  I  '11  come  after  a  while.'  " 

"  And  didst  thou  leave  him  ? "  I  exclaimed, 
wringing  my  hands. 

"And  why  not,  sir?  He  ordered  me  to  go 
away  ....  how  could  I  stay?  " 

All  my  terrors  returned  to  me  at  once. 

"  Lead  me  to  him  this  very  minute,  dost  hear? 
This  very  minute!  Ekh,  Semyon,  Semyon,  I  did 
not  expect  this  of  thee !  Thou  sayest  that  he  is  not 
far  from  here? " 

"  Quite  close,  yonder  where  the  grove  begins — 
that 's  where  he  is  sitting.  About  two  fathoms — 
not  more— from  the  creek,  from  the  shore.  I 
found  him  by  going  along  the  creek." 

"  Come,  guide  me,  guide  me!  " 

Semyon  set  out.     "  Here,   this  way,  if  you 

please We  have  only  to  descend  to  the 

stream,  and  then  we  shall  immediately  .  .  .  ." 

But  instead  of  descending  to  the  creek  we  got 
into  some  sort  of  a  ravine  and  found  ourselves  in 
front  of  a  small,  empty  shed.  .  .  . 

"  Hey!  Halt!  "  suddenly  exclaimed  Semyon. 
"  I  must  have  gone  too  far  to  the  right.  .  .  .  We 
must  turn  more  to  the  left  here.  .  .  ." 

281 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

We  went  further  to  the  left,  and  got  into  such 
a  dense  mass  of  steppe  grass  that  we  could  hardly 
extricate  ourselves  ...  so  far  as  I  could  recol- 
lect, there  was  no  such  high  grass  anywhere  in  the 
vicinity  of  our  village.  Then  suddenly  marshy 
ground  began  to  seep  under  our  feet,  and  round, 
mossy  tussocks,  which  I  had  never  seen,  either, 
began  to  make  their  appearance.  .  .  .  We  re- 
traced our  steps — before  us  uprose  a  hillock,  and 
on  the  hillo^  k  stood  a  hovel,  and  in  it  some  one 
was  snoring.  Semyon  and  I  shouted  several  times 
into  the  hovel;  something  fumbled  about  in  its 
recesses,  straw  crackled,  and  a  hoarse  voice  ejac- 
ulated: "  Po-o-li-i-ice !  " 

Again  we  retraced  our  steps  ....  fields, 
fields,  interminable  fields.  .  .  . 

I  was  ready  to  weep.  ...  I  recalled  the  words 
of  the  fool  in  "  King  Lear  ":  "  This  cold  night 
will  turn  us  all  to  fools  and  madmen!  " 

"Where  shall  we  go?"  I  said,  in  despair,  to 
Semyon. 

"  Evidently,  master,  the  forest  fiend  has  cheated 
us,"  replied  the  discomfited  orderly.  "  There  's 
some  mischief  abroad.  .  .  .  An  evil  power  is  at 
work!" 

I  was  on  the  point  of  scolding  him,  but  at  that 
moment  there  reached  my  ear  an  isolated,  not  very 
loud  sound  which  instantly  attracted  my  entire 
attention.  Something  popped  faintly,  as  though 
some  one  had  extracted  a  tight-fitting  cork  from 

282 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

the  narrow  neck  of  a  bottle.  The  sound  rang  out 
not  far  from  the  spot  where  I  was  standing. 
Why  that  sound  seemed  to  me  pecuhar  and 
strange  I  am  unable  to  say,  but  I  immediately 
walked  in  the  direction  whence  it  had  proceeded. 

Semyon  followed  me.  At  the  end  of  a  few  mo- 
ments something  tall  and  broad  loomed  up  darkly 
through  the  fog. 

"  The  grove !  There  it  is,  the  grove ! "  ex- 
claimed Semyon,  joyfully;  "and  yonder  .  .  .  . 
yonder  my  master  is  sitting  under  the  birch-tree, 
where  I  left  him.    'T  is  he  himself !  " 

I  looked  intently.  In  fact,  on  the  ground,  at 
the  foot  of  a  birch,  with  his  back  tow^ard  us,  awk- 
wardly bent  over,  a  man  was  sitting.  I  briskly 
approached  him  and  recognised  Tyegleff's 
cloak,— recognised  his  figure,  his  head  bowed  on 
his  breast. 

"  TyeglefF!"  I  shouted.  ...  But  he  did  not 
reply. 

"Tyegleff!"  I  repeated,  laying  my  hand  on 
his  shoulder. 

Then  he  suddenly  swayed  forward,  quickly 
and  obediently,  as  though  he  had  been  awaiting 
my  touch,  and  fell  prone  upon  the  grass.  Se- 
myon and  I  immediately  lifted  him  and  turned  his 
face  upward.  It  was  not  pale,  but  inanimately 
impassive ;  the  clenched  teeth  shone  white,  and  the 
eyes,  also,  motionless  and  open,  preserved  their 
customary  sleepy  and  "  mismatched  "  glance.  .  .  . 

283 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

"  O  Lord!  "—said  Semyon,  suddenly,  showing 
me  his  hand  crimsoned  with  blood.  .  .  .  This 
blood  was  flowing  from  beneath  Tyegleff 's  un- 
fastened cloak,  from  the  left  side  of  his  breast. 

He  had  shot  himself  with  a  small,  single-bar- 
relled pistol  which  lay  there  by  his  side.  The 
faint  sound  which  I  had  heard  had  been  the  sound 
produced  by  the  fatal  shot. 

XVII 

Tyegleff's  suicide  did  not  greatly  surprise  his 
comrades.  I  have  already  told  you  that,  accord- 
ing to  their  view,  he,  as  a  "  fatal "  man,  was  bound 
to  indulge  in  some  unusual  performance,  although 
possibly  they  had  not  expected  from  him  pre- 
cisely this  caper.  In  his  letter  to  the  commander 
of  the  battery  he  requested  the  latter,  in  the  first 
place,  to  attend  to  having  Sub-Lieutenant  Ilya 
TyeglefF  stricken  from  the  rolls  as  a  suicide,  stat- 
ing, in  this  connection,  that  in  his  casket  there 
would  be  found  more  than  enough  ready  money 
to  pay  all  debts  which  might  be  claimed;  and,  in 
the  second  place,  to  transmit  to  an  important  per- 
sonage, who  then  was  in  command  of  all  the  corps 
of  the  Guard,  another,  unsealed  letter,  which  was 
enclosed  in  the  same  envelope.  We  all  read  this 
second  letter,  as  a  matter  of  course ;  several  of  us 
took  copies  of  it.  TyeglefF  had  obviously  toiled 
over  the  composition  of  that  letter. 

284 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

"  Just  see,  Your  Royal  Highness,"  ^  thus  It 
began,  as  I  recall  it,  "how  strict  you  are,  how 
sternly  you  punish  for  the  slightest  irregular- 
ity in  a  uniform,  for  the  most  insignificant  in- 
fringement of  regulations  when  a  poor,  trem- 
bling officer  presents  himself  before  you;  but 
now  I  am  presenting  myself  before  the  incor- 
ruptible, upright  Judge  of  us  all,  before  the  Su- 
preme Being,  before  the  Being  who  is  of  im- 
measurably greater  importance  than  even  Your 
Royal  Highness,  and  I  am  presenting  myself 
quite  simply,  in  my  cloak,  without  even  a  stock 
on  my  neck.  ..."  Akh,  what  an  oppressive 
and  unpleasant  impression  was  made  upon  me  by 
this  phrase,  every  word,  every  letter  of  which 
was  carefully  set  forth  in  the  dead  man's  child- 
ish chirography!  Was  it  really  worth  while,  I 
asked  myself — was  it  really  worth  while  to  de- 
vise such  nonsense  at  such  a  moment?  But 
TyeglefF  had,  evidently,  taken  a  liking  to  this 
phrase;  for  he  had  put  in  play  all  the  heaping 
up  of  epithets  and  amplifications,  a  la  Mdrlin- 
shy,  which  was  then  in  fashion.  Further  on  he 
alluded  to  Fate,  to  persecution,  to  his  mission, 
which  would  remain  unfulfilled;  to  the  secret 
which  he  was  carrying  with  him  into  the  grave; 
to  the  people  who  had  refused  to  understand 

1  The  title  is  intentionally  abbreviated  in  the  original,  and  the  word 
might  mean  either  Majesty,  or  Royal  Highness  as  printed.  The 
latter  must  be  intended,  and  probably  the  Grand  Duke  Mikhail 
Pavlovitch,  a  renowned  martinet,  in  particular. —  Tbanslatob. 

285 


KNOCK  .  .  .KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

him;  he  even  quoted  the  verses  of  some  poet  or 
other  who  had  said  of  the  crowd  that  it  wears 
life  "  Hke  a  dog's  collar,"  and  eats  into  vice  "  like 
a  burdock"— and  all  this  not  without  ortho- 
graphical errors.  Truth  to  tell,  this  ante-mor- 
tem letter  of  poor  Tyegleff  was  decidedly  in- 
sipid, and  I  can  imagine  the  scornful  surprise 
of  the  exalted  personage  to  whom  it  was  ad- 
dressed; I  can  imagine  in  what  a  tone  he  must 
have  ejaculated:  "A  worthless  officer!  A  good 
riddance  to  bad  rubbish!  "  Just  before  the  end 
of  the  letter  a  genuine  cry  burst  from  TyeglefF's 
heart.  "  Akh,  Your  Royal  Highness!  "  thus  he 
wound  up  his  epistle,—"  I  am  an  orphan,  I  have 
had  no  one  to  love  me  from  my  childhood,  and 
every  one  has  fought  shy  of  me  ....  and  the 
only  heart  which  gave  itself  to  me  I  myself  have 
destroyed!" 

In  the  pocket  of  Tyegleff's  cloak  Semyon 
found  the  tiny  album  from  which  his  master 
never  parted.  But  almost  all  the  leaves  had  been 
torn  out;  only  one  remained  intact,  upon  which 
stood  the  following  calculation: 

Napoleon,  born  Aug.  16,  Ilya  Tydgleff,  born  Jan.  7, 

1T69.  1811. 

1769  1811 

15  7 

8  (Aug.    is   eighth  l(Jan.is  first  month 

month  in  year.)  in  year.) 

Total  1792  Total  1819 

286 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 


1 

1 

7 

8 

9 

1 

2 

9 

Total      19! 

Total      19! 

Napoleon  died  May 

5, 

Ilyd  Ty^glefF  died  July  21, 

1825. 

1834. 

1825 

1834 

5 

21 

5  (May  is 

fifth  month               7  (July  is  seventh 

in  year.) 

month  in  year.) 

Total  1835 

Total  1862 

1 

1 

8 

8 

3 

6 

5 

2 

Total      17! 

Total     17! 

Poor  fellow !  Was  not  that  the  reason  that  he 
had  entered  the  artillery? 

They  buried  him,  being  a  suicide,  outside  the 
cemetery,  and  immediately  forgot  him. 


XVIII 

On  the  day  after  Tyegleff's  funeral  (I  was  still 
in  the  village,  awaiting  my  brother)  Semyon  en- 
tered the  cottage  and  announced  that  Ilya  wished 
to  see  me. 

"What  Ilya?"  I  asked. 

287 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

"Why,  our  pedlar." 

I  ordered  him  to  be  called  in. 

He  presented  himself.  He  expressed  some 
slight  regret  concerning  the  sub-lieutenant,  and 
surprise  that  he  should  have  taken  such  a  thing 
into  his  head.  .  .  . 

"  Was  he  in  debt  to  thee? "  I  asked. 

"  Not  at  all,  sir.  Whatever  he  bought  from  me 
he  paid  for  punctually  on  the  spot.  But  it 's  this, 
sir.  .  .  ."  Here  the  pedlar  grinned. —  "  You 
have  a  small  article  of  mine.  ..." 

"What  article?" 

"  Why,  that  one,  sir."  He  pointed  with  his 
finger  at  the  carved  comb  which  was  lying  on  the 
toilet-table.—"  'T  is  an  article  of  small  value,  sir," 
—went  on  the  huckster,— "but  seeing  that  I  re- 
ceived it  as  a  present  .  .  ." 

I  suddenly  raised  my  head.  An  idea  struck  me 
like  a  flash  of  light. 

"Is  thy  name  Ilya?" 

"  Exactly  so,  sir." 

"  So  it  was  thee  whom  I  .  .  .  found  the  other 
day  ....  under  the  willow?  " 

The  pedlar  winked  and  grinned  still  more 
broadly. 

1  was  me,  sir. 

"  And  it  was  thee  whom  some  one  was  calling?  " 

"  'T  was  me,  sir,"  repeated  the  pedlar,  with 
playful  modesty.  "  There 's  a  lass  yonder,"  he 
went  on,  in  a  falsetto  voice,  "who,  on  account 

288 


KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

of  very  great  strictness  on  the  part  of  her 
parents  .  .  .  ." 

"  Good,  good,"  I  interrupted  him,  handing  him 
the  comb  and  sending  him  away. 

So  that  was  the  "  IHiisha," — I  thought,  and 
plunged  into  philosophical  reflections  which,  how- 
ever, I  will  not  repeat  to  you,  for  I  have  no  in- 
tention of  preventing  any  one  from  believing  in 
Fate,  predestination,  and  other  fatalities. 

On  returning  to  Petersburg  I  made  inquiries 
about  Masha.  I  even  hunted  up  the  doctor  who 
had  attended  her.  To  my  amazement,  I  learned 
from  him  that  she  did  not  die  of  poison  but  of 
the  cholera!  I  communicated  to  him  what  I  had 
heard  from  Tyegleff*. 

"  Ho!  ho!  "  exclaimed  the  doctor.  *'  Was  that 
TyeglefF  an  artillery  officer  of  medium  height 
with  round  shoulders  and  a  lisp?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  that  's  it  exactly.  That  gentleman 
presented  himself  to  me — I  beheld  him  then  for 
the  first  time — and  began  to  insist  upon  it  that  the 
girl  had  poisoned  herself.  '  It  was  the  cholera,* 
said  I.  '  It  w^as  poison,'  said  he.  '  But  't  was  the 
cholera,'  said  I.  *  But  't  was  poison,'  said  he.  I 
saw  that  the  man  was  rather  daft,  with  a  broad 
nape  which  indicates  stubbornness,  and  it  would 
not  be  a  short  job  to  get  rid  of  him.  ...  It 
makes  no  difference,  I  thought  to  myself;  the 
patient  is  dead  anyway.  .  .  .  '  Well,  then,'  said  I, 

289 


KNOCK  .  .  o  KNOCK  .  .  .  KNOCK  .  .  . 

'  she  did  poison  herself,  if  that  is  more  agreeable 
to  you.'  He  thanked  me,  he  even  shook  hands 
with  me— and  took  himself  off." 

I  told  the  doctor  how  that  same  officer  had  shot 
himself  that  very  same  day. 

The  doctor  never  so  much  as  moved  an  eyebrow 
— and  merely  remarked  that  there  were  various 
sorts  of  eccentric  folk  in  the  world. 

"  There  are,"  I  repeated  after  him. 

Yes,  some  one  has  truly  said  concerning  sui- 
cides that  until  they  carry  out  their  design  no  one 
believes  them ;  and  if  they  do,  no  one  regrets  them. 


200 


THE  WATCH 

(1875) 


THE  WATCH 

AN  OLD  MAN'S  STORY 


I  WILL  tell  you  my  story  about  the  watch. . . . 
A  curious  story ! 
The  affair  took  place  at  the  very  beginning 
of  the  present  century,  in  the  year  1801.  I  had 
just  entered  my  sixteenth  year.  I  lived  in  Rya- 
zan, in  a  little  wooden  house  not  far  from  the 
bank  of  the  Oka,  with  my  father,  my  aunt,  and 
my  cousin.  I  do  not  remember  my  mother;  she 
died  three  years  after  her  marriage.  My  father 
had  no  children  except  me.  His  name  was  Por- 
firy  Petrovitch.  He  was  a  peaceable  man,  not 
good-looking,  and  sickly;  his  business  consisted 
of  prosecuting  lawsuits — and  of  other  things. 
In  former  times  men  like  him  were  called  petti- 
foggers, shysters,  nettle-seed;  he  dignified  him- 
self with  the  title  of  lawyer.  Our  domestic  af- 
fairs were  presided  over  by  his  sister,  my  aunt, 
— an  old  maid  of  fifty;  my  father  also  was  over 
forty.     She  was  a  very  pious  woman — to  speak 

293 


THE  WATCH 

the  plain  truth,  a  hypocrite,  a  tattler,  and  given 
to  poking  her  nose  into  everything ;  and  her  heart 
was  not  like  my  father's— it  was  not  kind.  We 
did  not  live  poorly,  but  on  the  verge  of  that. 
My  father  had  also  a  brother,  Egor^  by  name; 
but  he  had  been  sent  to  Siberia  for  some  alleged 
"seditious  acts  and  Jacobinical  manner  of 
thought"— or  other  (precisely  so  did  it  stand  in 
the  decree). 

Egor's  son,  David,  my  cousin,  was  left  on 
my  father's  hands  and  lived  with  us.  He  was 
only  one  year  older  than  I ;  but  I  abased  myself 
before  him  and  obeyed  him  as  though  he  had 
been  a  full-grown  man.  He  was  far  from  a 
stupid  lad,  with  strong  character,  broad-shoul- 
dered, stockily  built,  with  a  square  face  all  cov- 
ered with  freckles,  red  hair,  grey  eyes,  small, 
broad  lips,  a  short  nose,  also  short  fingers— what 
is  called  a  strong  man— and  with  a  strength  be- 
yond his  years.  My  aunt  could  not  bear  him; 
and  my  father  was  even  afraid  of  him  ...  or, 
perhaps  he  felt  himself  culpable  toward  him.  A 
rumour  was  current  that  had  not  my  father 
blabbed,  David's  father  would  not  have  been  ex- 
iled to  Siberia!  We  both  studied  in  the  gym- 
nasium, in  the  same  class,  and  both  did  pretty 
well;  I  even  a  trifle  better  than  David.  ...  I 
had  a  keen  memory;  but  boys— as  every  one 
knows— do  not  prize  that  superiority  and  do  not 

*That  is,  George;  pronounced  Yeg6r. — Translator. 

294 


THE  WATCH 

plume  themselves  on  it,  and  David  remained, 
nevertheless,  my  leader. 


II 

My  name,  as  you  know,  is  Alexyei.  I  was  born 
on  the  seventh  of  March,  and  my  name-day 
comes  on  the  seventeenth.  According  to  ancient 
custom,  they  bestowed  upon  me  the  name  of  one 
of  those  saints  whose  day  falls  upon  the  tenth  day 
after  the  child's  birth.  My  godfather  was  a 
certain  Anastasy  Anastasievitch  PutchkofF;  or, 
properly  speaking,  Nastasyei,  Nastasyeitch ;  no 
one  ever  called  him  anything  else.  He  was  a 
frightfully-litigious  man,  a  caviller  and  bribe- 
taker— a  bad  man  altogether;  he  had  been  ex- 
pelled from  the  Governor's  chancellery,  and  had 
been  indicted  more  than  once ;  he  was  necessary  to 
my  father.  .  .  .  They  "  did  business  "  in  company. 
He  was  plump  and  round  in  person ;  but  his  face 
was  like  that  of  a  fox,  with  an  awl-shaped  nose; 
his  bright  brown  eyes  were  also  like  those  of  a 
fox.  And  he  kept  those  eyes  of  his  in  incessant 
motion,  to  right  and  left,  and  kept  his  nose  in  mo- 
tion also,  as  though  he  were  sniffing  the  air.  He 
wore  heelless  shoes  and  powdered  his  hair  every 
day,  which  was  then  regarded  as  a  great  rarity  in 
country  parts.  He  was  wont  to  declare  that  he 
could  not  get  along  without  powder,  as  he  was 

295 


THE  WATCH 

obliged  to  consort  with  generals  and  general- 
esses. 

So,  then,  my  name-day  arrives.  Nastasyei 
Nastasyeitch  comes  to  our  house  and  says: 

"  Up  to  this  time,  godson,  I  have  never  given 
thee  anything;  but  just  see  what  I  have  brought 
thee  to-day!" 

And  thereupon  he  pulls  out  of  his  pocket  a 
bulbous  silver  watch,  with  a  rose  painted  on  the 
face,  and  a  brass  chain!  I  was  fairly  dumb- 
founded with  rapture,— but  my  aunt,  Pulkhe- 
riya  ^  Petrovna,  began  to  scream  at  the  top  of  her 
voice : 

"  Kiss  his  hand,  kiss  his  hand,  dirty  brat! " 

I  began  to  kiss  my  godfather's  hand,  while  my 
aunt  kept  interpolating: 

"Akh,  dear  little  father,  Nastasyei  Nastasye- 
itch,  why  do  you  spoil  him  so?  How  will  he  be 
able  to  manage  a  watch?  He  'U  drop  it,  for  a 
certainty,  and  will  smash  it  or  break  it!" 

My  father  entered  the  room,  looked  at  the 
watch,  thanked  Nastasyeitch  in  a  careless  sort 
of  way,  and  asked  him  to  come  into  his  study. 
And  I  heard  my  father  saying,  as  though  to 
himself : 

"  If  thou  hast  taken  it  into  thy  head,  my  good 
fellow,  to  get  out  of  it  in  this  way  .  .  .  ." 

But  I  could  not  stand  still  on  one  spot  any 

*  Turg^niefF  calls  her  part  of  the  time  Pelagdya,  part  of  the  time 
Pulkhdriya. — Trakslatob. 

296 


THE  WATCH 

longer,  so  I  put  on  my  watch  and  rushed  off 
headlong  to  show  my  gift  to  David. 

Ill 

David  took  the  watch,  opened  it  and  scrutinised 
it  attentively.  He  had  great  gifts  in  the  me- 
chanical line ;  he  was  fond  of  tinkering  with  iron, 
brass,  and  all  metals;  he  had  provided  himself 
with  various  instruments,  and  to  repair  a  screw, 
or  a  key — or  make  an  entirely  new  one,  and  so 
forth,  was  nothing  for  him. 

David  turned  the  watch  about  in  his  hands,  and 
muttered  through  his  teeth  (he  was,  in  general, 
not  talkative)  : 

"  Old  ....  bad.  .  .  .  Where  didst  thou  get 
it?"  he  added. 

I  told  him  that  my  godfather  had  given  it  to 
me. 

David  turned  his  small  grey  eyes  on  me: 

"Nastasyei?" 

"Yes;  Nastasyei  Nastasyeitch." 

David  laid  the  watch  on  the  table  and  walked 
off  in  silence. 

"  Dost  not  thou  like  it? "  I  asked. 

"  No ;  that  's  not  it.  .  .  .  But  if  I  were  in  thy 
place,  I  would  n't  accept  any  gift  from  Nasta- 
syei. 

"Why  not?" 

*'  Because  he  is  a  worthless  man ;  and  one  should 

297 


THE  WATCH 

not  lay  himself  under  obligations  to  a  worthless 
man.    I  suppose  thou  didst  kiss  his  hand? " 

"  Yes,  aunty  made  me." 

David  laughed, — in  a  peculiar  sort  of  way, 
through  his  nose.  It  was  a  habit  of  his.  He 
never  laughed  aloud;  he  regarded  laughter  as  a 
sign  of  pusillanimity. 

David's  words,  his  noiseless  smile,  pained  me 
deeply.  He  must  be  blaming  me  inwardly,  I 
thought!  I  must  also  be  a  worthless  creature  in 
his  ej^es!  He  would  never  have  lowered  himself 
to  that,  he  would  not  have  accepted  a  gift  from 
Nastasyei!    But  what  was  left  for  me  to  do  now? 

It  was  impossible  to  give  back  the  watch ! 

I  made  an  effort  to  talk  with  David,  to  ask 
his  advice.  He  answered  me  that  he  never  gave 
advice  to  any  one,  and  that  I  must  act  as  I  saw 
fit. — "  As  I  saw  fit? "  I  remember  that  I  did  not 
sleep  all  night  afterward;  I  was  tortured  by 
thought.  I  was  sorry  to  part  from  the  watch — so 
I  placed  it  beside  my  bed,  on  the  night-stand; 
it  ticked  so  pleasingly  and  amusingly.  .  .  But 
to  feel  that  David  despised  me  ....  (but  it  was 
impossible  to  deceive  myself  on  that  score !  he  did 
despise  me!)  .  .  .  seemed  to  me  unbearable! 
Toward  morning  my  decision  matured.  ...  I 
cried  a  little,  to  tell  the  truth,  but  I  went  to  sleep 
after  that,  and  as  soon  as  I  awoke  I  dressed  my- 
self in  haste,  and  ran  out  into  the  street.  I  had 
irade  up  my  mind  to  give  my  watch  away  to  the 
first  beggar  I  met. 

298 


THE  WATCH 


IV 


I  HAD  not  succeeded  in  running  very  far  from  the 
house  when  I  hit  upon  that  of  which  I  was  in 
search.  I  came  across  a  barefooted,  tattered  ur- 
chin aged  ten,  who  often  lounged  past  our  win- 
dows. I  immediately  ran  up  to  him,  and  without 
giving  either  him  or  myself  time  to  change  our 
minds,  I  offered  him  my  watch. 

The  lad  opened  his  eyes  very  wide,  screened 
his  mouth  with  one  hand,  as  though  he  were 
afraid  of  scorching  himself,  and  stretched  out 
the  other. 

"  Take  it,  take  it,"  I  stammered,—"  it  is  mine; 
I  make  thee  a  present  of  it;  thou  mayest  sell  it 
and  buy  thyself  .  .  .  Well,  then,  something 
thou  needest.  .  .  .  Good-bye!" 

I  thinist  the  watch  into  his  hand,  and  started 
for  home  at  full  tilt.  After  standing  for  a  while 
behind  the  door  in  our  common  bedroom  and 
getting  my  breath,  I  stepped  up  to  David,  who 
had  only  just  completed  his  toilet  and  was  brush- 
ing his  hair.  "  Here,  David,"  I  began,  in  as  calm 
a  voice  as  I  could  command,—"  I  have  given 
away  Nastasyei's  watch." 

David  glanced  at  me  as  he  passed  the  brush 
over  his  temples. 

"  Yes,"  I  added,  in  the  same  business-like  tone, 
"  I  have  given  it  away.  There  's  a  very  poor  lit- 
tle boy  out  there,  a  beggar;  so  I  gave  it  to  him." 

299 


THE  WATCH 

David  laid  down  his  brush  on  the  wash-stand. 

"  For  the  money  w^hich  he  can  get  for  it,"  I 
went  on,  "he  can  purchase  some  useful  article. 
He  will  get  something  for  it,  anyhow." 

I  ceased  speaking. 

"Well,  all  right!  'T  is  a  good  thing!"  said 
David  at  last,  and  went  off  to  the  school-room. 

I  followed  him. 

"And  what  if  thou  art  asked  what  thou  hast 
done  wath  it? " — he  said,  turning  to  me. 

"  I  w411  say  that  I  have  lost  it,"  I  replied  care- 
lessly. 

We  said  nothing  further  to  each  other  that  day 
about  the  watch;  but,  nevertheless,  it  struck  me 
that  David  not  only  approved  of  me,  but  even,  to 
a  certain  degree,  was  amazed  at  me. — Really! 


V 

Two  days  more  passed.  It  so  happened  that  no 
one  in  the  house  bethought  himself  of  the  watch. 
My  father  had  a  very  great  row  with  one  of 
his  clients;  he  was  in  no  mood  to  think  of  me 
or  of  my  watch.  On  the  other  hand,  I  thought 
of  it  incessantly!  Even  the  approbation  .  .  .  . 
the  presumptive  approbation  of  David  did  not 
afford  me  much  consolation.  He  did  not  express 
It  in  any  particular  manner;  he  never  said  but 

300 


THE  WATCH 

once— and  that  in  passing— that  he  had  not  ex- 
pected such  daring  from  me.  Positively,  my  sac- 
rifice had  been  a  disadvantage  to  me;  it  was  not 
counterbalanced  by  the  satisfaction  which  my 
vanity  afforded. 

But  at  this  point,  as  though  expressly,  there 
must  needs  turn  up  another  gymnasium  lad,  an 
acquaintance  of  ours,  the  son  of  the  town  phy- 
sician, and  begin  to  brag  of  a  new  watch — of 
pinchbeck,  not  of  silver— which  his  grandmother 
had  given  him.  ...  At  last  I  could  hold  out  no 
longer,  and  slipping  quietly  out  of  the  house,  I 
set  forth  to  hunt  up  that  beggar  lad  to  whom 
I  had  given  my  watch. 

I  soon  found  him ;  he,  together  with  other  boys, 
was  playing  at  knuckle-bones  on  the  church 
porch.  I  called  him  to  one  side,  and,  panting  and 
entangling  myself  in  my  speech,  I  told  him  that 
my  family  were  angry  with  me  for  having  given 
away  my  watch,  and  that  if  he  would  consent  to 
restore  it  to  me,  I  would  gladly  pay  him  money 
for  it.  ...  I  had  taken  with  me,  in  case  of 
emergency,  an  old-fashioned  ruble  of  the  time  of 
the  Empress  Elizabeth,  which  constituted  my  en- 
tire cash  capital.  .  .  . 

"  Why,  I  have  n't  got  it,  that  watch  of  yours," 
—replied  the  urchin,  in  an  angry,  snivelling 
voice.  "  Daddy  saw  it  and  took  it  away  from  me ; 
and  he  was  going  to  thrash  me  to  boot.    '  Thou 

301 


THE  WATCH 

must  have  stolen  it  somewhere,'  said  he.  '  What 
fool  would  give  thee  a  watch? '  " 

"  And  who  is  thy  father? " 

"My  father?    Trofimitch." 

"  But  who  is  he?    What  is  his  business? " 

"He  's  a  retired  soldier— a  srageant.  And  he 
has  n't  any  business.  He  cobbles  old  shoes,  and 
sews  on  soles.  That  's  all  the  business  he  has. 
And  he  lives  by  it." 

"  Where  is  your  lodging?    Take  me  to  him." 

"I  '11  take  you.  You  just  say  to  him,  to  my 
daddy,  that  you  gave  me  the  watch.  For  he  is 
scolding  me  all  the  time.  '  Thou  'rt  a  thief;  yes, 
a  thief ! '  And  my  mother  does  the  same :  '  From 
whom  didst  thou  inherit  this  thieving? '  says  she." 

The  boy  and  I  wended  our  way  to  his  lodging. 
It  was  situated  in  a  fowl-house,  in  the  back  yard 
of  a  factory  which  had  been  burned  down  long, 
long  before  and  never  rebuilt.  We  found  both 
Trofimitch  and  his  wife  at  home.  The  retired 
"  srageant "  was  a  tall  old  man,  sinevry  and  erect, 
with  yellowish-grey  side-whiskers,  unshaven  chin, 
and  a  whole  network  of  wrinkles  on  his  cheeks 
and  forehead.  His  wife  appeared  to  be  older 
than  he;  her  little  red  eyes  blinked  and  puckered 
mournfully  in  the  midst  of  a  bloated  and  sickly 
face.  Both  of  them  were  draped  in  some  sort  of 
dark  rags  instead  of  garments. 

I  explained  the  affair  to  Trofimitch,  and  why 
I  had  come.    He  listened  to  me  in  silence,  never 

802 


THE  WATCH 

once  winking,  or  removing  from  me  his  dull  and 
strained,  regular  soldier's  glance. 

"Mischievous  tricks!"  he  said  at  last,  in  a 
hoarse,  toothless  voice.  —  "Do  well-born  gentle- 
men behave  like  that?  But  if  Petka  really  did 
not  steal  the  watch — I'll  give  it  to  him  for 
that!— w-w- whack!  Take  that  for  playing  with 
young  gentlemen!  But  if  he  had  stolen  it  I 
would  n't  have  treated  him  like  that!  w-whack! 
w-whack!  w-whack!  with  rods,  in  calergard  ^ 
style!  Who  cares?  What 's  that?  Hey?  Give 
him  the  spontoons!  So  that  's  the  story?  1 
Faugh!" 

This  last  exclamation  Trofimitch  uttered  in  a 
falsetto  voice.    He  was  evidently  perplexed. 

"  If  j^ou  will  return  my  watch  to  me,"  I  ex- 
plained to  him  ....  I  did  not  dare  to  address 
him  as  "  thou,"  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  he 
was  a  common  soldier  .  ..."  I  will  paj^  you 
this  ruble  with  pleasure.  I  don't  suppose  it  is 
worth  any  more  than  that." 

"C-c-come!" — growled  Trofimitch,  without 
recovering  from  his  perplexity,  and  devouring  me 
with  his  eyes,  out  of  old  habit,  as  though  I  had 
been  some  superior  officer  or  other.  —  "A  fine 
business — hey? — Well  now,  just  think  of  it!  .  .  . 
Hold  thy  tongue,  Ulyana ! "  he  snarled  at  his 
wife,  who  had  begun  to  open  her  mouth. — 
"  Here  's  the  watch,"  he  added,  opening  the  table 

^  Cavalier-gnard.— I^AKSLATOB. 

303 


THE  WATCH 

drawer.—"  If  it  really  is  yours,  please  to  take  it. 
But  what's  the  ruble  for?    Hey?" 

"  Take  the  ruble,  Trofimitch,  good-for-no- 
thing!"  roared  his  wife.—"  The  old  man  has  out- 
lived his  mind !  He  has  n't  a  penny  to  his  name, 
and  here  he  is  putting  on  pompous  airs !  'T  was 
in  vain  they  cut  oflp  thy  queue,  for  thou  art  as 
much  of  a  woman  as  ever!— so  thou  art— and 
knowest  nothing.  Accept  the  money,  if  thou  hast 
taken  it  into  thy  head  to  give  back  the  watch !  " 

"Hold  thy  tongue,  Ulyana,  thou  good-for- 
nothing!"  repeated  Trofimitch.  — "Who  ever 
heard  of  a  woman's  putting  in  her  word?  Hey? 
The  husband  is  the  head;  but  she  puts  in  her 
word!  Petka,  don't  stir  or  I'll  kill  thee!  .  .  . 
Here  's  the  watch!"  Trofimitch  reached  out 
the  watch  to  me,  but  did  not  let  it  out  of  his  fin- 
gers. 

He  pondered,  dropped  his  eyes,  then  riveted 
upon  me  the  same  intently-dull  gaze,  and  sud- 
denly began  to  bawl  at  the  top  of  his  lungs : 

"But  where  is  it?    Where  's  that  ruble?" 

"  Here  it  is,  here,"  I  hastily  said,  pulling  the 
money  from  my  pocket. 

But  he  did  not  take  it,  and  kept  staring  at  me. 
I  laid  the  ruble  on  the  table.  He  suddenly  swept 
it  into  the  drawer,  flung  my  watch  at  me,  and 
wheeling  round  to  the  left  and  stamping  his  foot 
violently,  he  hissed  at  his  wife  and  son : 

"Begone,  riffraff!" 

304 


THE  WATCH 

Ulyana  stammered  something  or  other,  but  I 
had  already  darted  out  into  the  courtyard,  into 
the  street.  Thrusting  my  watch  to  the  very  bot- 
tom of  my  pocket,  and  gripping  it  tightly  in  my 
hand,  I  dashed  headlong  homeward. 


VI 

I  HAD  again  entered  into  possession  of  my  watch, 
but  got  no  satisfaction  whatever  out  of  it.  I  could 
not  make  up  my  mind  to  wear  it;  I  must  hide 
it  most  of  all  from  David,  which  I  did.  What 
would  he  think  of  me  and  my  lack  of  character? 
I  could  not  even  lock  that  unlucky  watch  up  in 
a  drawer.  We  had  all  our  drawers  in  common. 
I  was  forced  to  hide  it,  now  on  the  top  of  the 
wardrobe,  now  under  the  mattress,  now  behind 
the  stove.  .  .  .  And  yet  I  did  not  succeed  in  de- 
ceiving David! 

One  day,  having  the  watch  out  from  under  the 
floor  of  our  room,  I  took  it  into  my  head  to  rub 
up  its  silver  back  with  an  old  chamois-skin  glove. 
David  had  gone  off  somewhere  in  the  town ;  I  was 
not  in  the  least  expecting  that  he  would  speedily 
return  .  .  .  when  suddenly  in  he  walked ! 

I  was  so  disconcerted  that  I  almost  dropped  the 
watch,  and,  all  abashed,  with  face  flushing  to  a 
painful  degree,  I  set  to  sliding  it  about  over  my 
waistcoat,  being  utterly  unable  to  hit  my  pocket. 

305 


THE  WATCH 

David  looked  at  me,  and  smiled  silently,  ac- 
cording to  his  wont. 

"What  ails  thee?"  he  said  at  last.— "Dost 
thou  think  I  did  not  know  that  thou  hadst  the 
watch  again?  I  saw  it  the  very  first  day  thou 
didst  bring  it  back." 

"  I  assure  thee,"  I  began,  almost  in  tears  .... 

David  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  The  watch  is  thine ;  thou  art  free  to  do  with 
it  what  thou  wilt." 

Having  uttered  these  cruel  words,  he  left  the 
room. 

Despair  seized  upon  me.  There  was  no  doubt 
about  it  this  time;  David  really  did  despise  me! 

Matters  could  not  be  left  in  this  condition. 

"I  '11  just  show  him!"  I  thought  to  myself, 
setting  my  teeth;  and  immediately  betaking  my- 
self with  firm  tread  to  the  anteroom,  I  hunted  up 
our  page-boy  Yiishka,  and  made  him  a  present  of 
the  watch! 

Yushka  tried  to  decline  it,  but  I  declared  to 
him  that  if  he  did  not  take  that  watch  from  me 
I  would  smash  it  on  the  instant,  I  would  trample 
it  under  foot,  I  would  fling  it  into  the  cesspool! 
He  reflected,  giggled,  and  took  the  watch.  And 
I  returned  to  our  room,  and  seeing  David,  who 
was  engaged  in  reading  a  book,  I  told  him  what 
I  had  done. 

David  did  not  remove  his  eyes  from  the  page, 
and  again  said,  shrugging  his  shoulders  and  smil- 

806 


THE  WATCH 

ing  to  himself, — "The  watch  is  thine,  and  thou 
art  free  to  dispose  of  it." 

But  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  despised  me  some- 
what less. 

I  was  fully  convinced  that  I  should  never  again 
subject  myself  to  a  fresh  reproach  for  lack  of 
character;  for  that  watch,  that  hateful  gift  of 
my  hateful  godfather,  had  suddenly  become  so 
loathsome  to  me  that  I  even  was  not  able  to  com- 
prehend how  I  had  regretted  it,  how  I  could  have 
wheedled  it  out  of  that  person  named  Trofimitch, 
who,  moreover,  still  had  a  right  to  think  that  he 
had  treated  me  with  magnanimity. 

Several  days  passed.  ...  I  remember  that  on 
one  of  them  a  great  piece  of  news  reached  our 
town;  the  Emperor  Paul  was  dead,  and  his  son 
Alexander,  concerning  whose  benignity  and  hu- 
manity such  good  rumours  were  in  circulation, 
had  ascended  the  throne.  This  news  threw  David 
into  a  frightful  state  of  agitation ;  the  possibility 
of  seeing  his  father,  of  seeing  him  soon,  immedi- 
ately presented  itself  to  him.  My  papa  was  also 
delighted. 

"  All  exiles  will  now  be  brought  back  from  Si- 
beria, and  I  suppose  they  will  not  forget  brother 
Egor  either,"  he  kept  repeating,  as  he  rubbed 
his  hands  and  cleared  his  throat,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  appeared  to  be  struck  with  consternation. 

David  and  I  immediately  ceased  to  work,  and 
did  not  go  to  the  gymnasium;  we  did  not  even 

307 


THE  WATCH 

stroll  about,  but  sat  constantly  somewhere  in  a 
corner,  reckoning  up  and  discussing  in  how  many- 
months,  how  many  weeks,  how  many  days  "  bro- 
ther Egor"  would  be  brought  back,  and  where 
we  might  write  to  him,  and  how  we  should  go  to 
meet  him,  and  in  what  manner  we  should  begin 
to  live  afterward.  "  Brother  Egor  "  was  an  ar- 
chitect; David  and  I  decided  that  he  must  settle 
in  Moscow  and  there  erect  great  school-houses  for 
poor  people,  while  we  would  act  as  his  assistants. 
As  a  matter  of  course,  we  completely  forgot  the 
watch;  moreover,  new  anxieties  had  cropped  up 
for  David  ....  of  which  more  hereafter;  but 
the  watch  was  destined  to  remind  us  of  its  exist- 
ence. 

VII 

One  morning  just  as  we  had  finished  breakfast, 
I  was  sitting  alone  near  the  window  and  medi- 
tating about  my  uncle's  return — an  April  thaw 
was  steaming  and  glittering  out  of  doors — when 
suddenly  Pulkheriya  Petrovna  ran  into  the  room. 
She  was  fussy  and  fidgety  at  all  times,  talked  in 
a  squeaking  voice,  and  was  incessantly  flourishing 
her  hands,  but  on  this  occasion  she  fairly  pounced 
upon  me. 

"Come  along!  come  along  to  thy  father  this 
very  instant,  young  sir!"  she  cackled.  "What 
pranks   are   these  thou  hast  been  up   to,   thou 

308 


THE  WATCH 

shameless  wretch?— You  '11  catch  it,  both  of  you  I 
Nastasyei  Nastasyeitch  has  brought  all  your 
tricks  to  light.  .  .  .  Come  along!  Thy  father 
wants  thee.  .  .  .  Go  this  very  instant!" 

Still  comprehending  nothing,  I  followed  my 
aunt ;  and  as  I  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  draw- 
ing-room I  beheld  my  father  pacing  back  and 
forth  with  huge  strides,  and  rumpling  up  his  crest 
of  hair,  Yiishka  in  tears  by  the  door,  and  in  the 
corner,  on  a  chair,  my  godfather,  Nastasyei  Nas- 
tasyeitch, with  an  expression  of  peculiarly-malign 
joy  in  his  inflated  nostrils  and  blazing,  squinting 
eyes. 

As  soon  as  I  entered,  my  father  flew  at  me. 

"Didst  thou  give  the  watch  to  Yiishka? 
Tell  me!" 

I  glanced  at  Yiishka.  .  .  . 

"  Come,  speak! "  repeated  my  father,  stamping 
his  foot. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  and  immediately  received  a 
swingeing  box  on  the  ear,  which  afl'orded  great 
satisfaction  to  my  aunt.  I  heard  her  grunt,  ex- 
actly as  though  she  had  swallowed  a  mouthful 
of  boiling  tea.— From  me  my  father  rushed  to 
Yiishka. 

"And  thou,  scoundrel,  shouldst  not  have  pre- 
sumed to  accept  the  watch  as  a  gift,"  he  said,  pull- 
ing the  boy  about  by  his  hair;— "and  thou  hast 
sold  it  into  the  bargain,  thou  rascal ! " 

Yiishka,  as  I  afterward  learned,  in  simplic- 

309 


THE  WATCH 

ity  of  heart,  actually  had  carried  my  watch  to 
a  neighbouring  watchmaker.  —  The  watchmaker 
had  hung  it  up  in  his  window;  Nastasyei  Nas- 
tasyeitch  had  espied  it  in  passing,  had  purchased 
it  and  brought  it  to  our  house. 

But  the  chastisement  of  myself  and  Yiishka 
did  not  last  long;  my  father  got  to  panting,  and 
began  to  cough;  and  it  was  not  in  his  nature, 
either,  to  get  angry. 

"Dear  brother,  Porfiry  Petrovitch,"  said  my 
aunt,  as  soon  as  she  saw — not  without  some  re- 
gret, of  course — that  my  father's  wrath  had  died 
down,  as  the  saying  is, — "pray,  do  not  worry 
yourself  further;  it  is  not  worth  soiling  your 
hands  about.  But  this  is  what  I  would  suggest: 
with  the  consent  of  our  respected  Nastasyei  Nas- 
tasyeitch,  and  by  reason  of  your  little  son's  great 
ingratitude,  I  will  take  possession  of  this  watch; 
and  since  he  has  shown  by  his  act  that  he  is  un- 
worthy to  wear  it,  and  does  not  even  understand 
its  value,  I  will  make  a  gift  of  it,  in  your  name, 
to  a  man  who  will  be  very  appreciative  of  your 
kindness." 

"Who  is  he?"  inquired  my  father. 

"Why,  Khrisanfa  Liikitch,"  said  my  aunt, 
with  a  little  hesitation. 

"  Khrisashka?  "  ^  cross-questioned  my  father; 
and  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  he  added:  —  "  'T  is  all 
one  to  me.    Fling  it  into  the  stove  if  you  like." 

1  The  scornful  diminutive.— Translator. 

310 


THE  WATCH 

He  buttoned  up  his  under  waistcoat,  which  was 
open  on  the  breast,  and  left  the  room,  writhing 
with  a  cough. 

"  And  do  you  consent,  my  dear  man? "  said  my 
aunt,  addressing  Nastasyei  Nastasyeitch. 

"  With  the  greatest  readiness,"  replied  the  lat- 
ter. Throughout  the  whole  duration  of  the 
"chastisement"  he  had  not  stirred  on  his  chair, 
and  merely  sniffing  softly,  and  softly  rubbing 
together  the  tips  of  his  fingers,  he  had  turned 
his  foxy  eyes  upon  me,  my  father  and  Yiishka  by 
turns.  We  aiforded  him  genuine  satisfac- 
tion! .... 

My  aunt's  suggestion  agitated  me  to  the  bot- 
tom of  my  soul.  I  was  not  sorry  for  the  watch; 
but  I  heartily  detested  the  man  to  whom  she  was 
preparing  to  give  it.— This  Khrisanfa  Lukitch, 
whose  surname  was  Trankvillitatin,^  a  healthy, 
robust,  lank  student  in  the  ecclesiastical  semi- 
nary, had  acquired  a  habit  of  coming  to  our  house 
— the  devil  only  knows  why!  "To  teach  the 
children"  my  aunt  asserted;  but  he  could  not 
teach  us,  for  the  simple  reason  that  he  himself 
had  learned  nothing  to  teach,  and  was  as  stupid 
as  a  horse.  Altogether,  he  resembled  a  horse: 
he  clattered  his  feet  exactly  as  though  they  were 
hoofs;    he     did    not    laugh — he    neighed,    dis- 

^  An  absurd  surname  of  this  sort,  or  one  manufactured  from  the 
title  of  a  religious  festival  or  something  similar,  is  an  infallible  sign 
that  the  owner  belongs  to,  or  is  descended  from,  the  ecclesiastical 
caste. — Tran  SLAToa. 

311 


THE  WATCH 

playing  the  whole  of  his  jaws  do^Ti  to  his  very 
gullet  in  the  process;  and  he  had  a  long  face,  a 
nose  with  a  hump,  and  large,  flat  cheek-bones; 
he  wore  a  shaggy  frieze  kaftan,  and  emitted  an 
odour  of  raw  meat.  My  aunt  fairly  worshipped 
him  and  called  him  a  distinguished  man,  a  cav- 
aher,  and  even  a  grenadier.  He  had  a  habit  of 
rapping  children  on  the  forehead  (he  had  rapped 
me  also,  when  I  was  younger)  with  the  nails  of 
his  long  fingers,  which  were  as  hard  as  stone, 
and  as  he  tapped  he  would  guffaw  and  express 
surprise.  "How  thy  head  resounds!"  he  would 
say.  "That  signifies  that  it  is  empty!"  And 
this  lout  was  to  possess  my  watch ! — "  Not  on  any 
account! "  I  decided  in  my  own  mind,  when  I  had 
run  out  of  the  drawing-room,  and  tucked  my  feet 
up  on  my  bed,  while  my  cheek  burned  and  glowed 
from  the  blow  it  had  received — and  in  my  heart 
also  the  anguish  of  insult,  and  a  thirst  for  ven- 
geance flared  up.  .  .  .  "Not  on  any  account!  I 
won't  allow  that  damned  seminarist  to  rail  at  me. 
....  He  '11  put  on  the  watch,  and  let  the  chain 
hang  over  his  belly,  and  begin  to  neigh  with 
pleasure.  .  .  .  Not  on  any  account!" 

Yet,  what  was  I  to  do?  How  was  I  to  pre- 
vent it? 

I  decided  to  steal  the  watch  from  my  aunt! 


312 


THE  WATCH 


VIII 


Luckily  Trankvillitatin  was  absent  from  town 
at  the  time.  He  could  not  come  to  our  house 
earher  than  the  following  day;  I  must  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  night.  My  aunt  did  not  lock  her- 
self into  her  room,  for  all  through  our  house 
none  of  the  keys  worked  in  the  locks;  but  where 
would  she  put  the  watch,  where  would  she  hide 
it?  Until  evening  she  carried  it  in  her  pocket, 
and  even  pulled  it  out  more  than  once  and  looked 
at  it;  but  at  night— where  would  it  be  at  night? 
—Well,  it  was  m}^  business  to  find  that  out,  I 
thought,  brandishing  mj^  clenched  fists. 

I  was  all  glo^™g  with  audacity  and  fright 
and  joy  at  the  approach  of  the  longed-for  crime; 
I  kept  constantly  nodding  my  head ;  I  contracted 
my  brows  in  a  frown,  I  whispered:  "Just  wait 
a  bit!"  I  menaced  some  one  or  other,  I  was  ma- 
lignant, I  was  dangerous  ....  and  I  avoided 
David! — No  one,  not  even  he,  must  have  the 
slightest  suspicion  of  that  which  I  was  preparing 
to  perpetrate.  .  .  . 

"I  will  act  alone— and  alone  I  will  be  respon- 
sible!" 

The  day  dragged  slowly  by  ... .  then  the  even- 
ing ...  at  last  night  came.  I  did  nothing,  I 
even  tried  not  to  stir:  one  thought  had  riveted 
itself  in  my  head,  like  a  nail.     At  dinner  my 

313 


THE  WATCH 

father,  whose  heart  was,  as  I  have  said,  benig- 
nant, and  who  had  grown  somewhat  ashamed 
of  his  vehemence — one  does  not  slap  boys  of  six- 
teen on  the  face — my  father  tried  to  pet  me;  but 
I  rejected  his  caresses,  not  out  of  rancour,  but 
simply  because  I  was  afraid  of  relenting:  it  was 
necessary  for  me  to  preserve  all  the  fervour  of 
vengeance,  all  the  hardened  temper  of  irrevo- 
cable resolution! 

I  went  to  bed  very  earlj^;  but,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  I  did  not  go  to  sleep,  and  did  not  even 
close  my  eyes,  but  on  the  contrary  opened  them 
staringly  wide— although  I  had  drawn  the  cov- 
erlet over  my  head.  I  had  not  thought  out  be- 
forehand how  I  should  proceed ;  I  had  no  plan  of 
action;  I  was  merely  waiting  until  everything 
should  quiet  down  at  last  in  the  house.  I  took 
but  one  precaution;  I  did  not  remove  my  stock- 
ings. My  aunt's  room  was  in  the  second  story. 
It  was  necessary  to  pass  through  the  dining-room 
and  the  anteroom,  ascend  the  stairs,  traverse  a 
short,  narrow  corridor — and  there  ...  on  the 
right,  was  the  door!  ....  There  was  no  need 
to  take  a  candle-end  or  a  lantern :  in  the  corner  of 
my  aunt's  room,  in  front  of  the  glass  case  of  holy 
pictures,  twinkled  a  shrine-lamp  which  was  never 
allowed  to  go  out.  I  knew  this.  So  I  should  be 
able  to  see!  I  continued  to  lie  with  staring  eyes 
and  wide-open,  parched  mouth;  my  blood  ham- 
mered in  my  temples,  my  ears,  my  throat,  my 

314 


THE  WATCH 

back,  my  whole  body!  I  waited  .  .  .  but  as 
though  some  imp  were  making  sport  of  me,  time 
passed  on  ...  .  and  on,  but  silence  was  not  es- 
tablished. 

IX 

Never,  so  it  seemed  to  me,  had  David  fallen 
asleep  so  late.  .  .  .  David,  the  taciturn  David, 
even  entered  into  conversation  with  me!  Never 
had  people  thumped,  walked,  and  talked  so  long 
in  the  house !  And  what  were  they  talking  about? 
I  thought.  Had  n't  they  talked  their  fill  that 
morning?  External  sounds  did  not  cease  for  a 
long  time,  either.  Now  a  dog  set  up  a  shrill,  per- 
sistent barking ;  now  a  drunken  peasant  began  to 
bluster  somewhere  or  other,  and  would  not  stop; 
now  gates  creaked ;  now  a  miserable  little  peasant- 
cart  drove  past  on  rickety  wheels,  drove  and 
drove,  and  could  not  seem  to  get  past !  But  these 
sounds  did  not  irritate  me;  on  the  contrary,  they 
pleased  me,  for  some  reason  or  other!  They 
seemed  to  divert  my  attention. — But  now,  at  last, 
apparently,  everything  had  quieted  down.  Only 
the  pendulum  of  our  old  clock  ticked  hoarsely 
and  pompously  in  the  dining-room,  and  one  could 
hear  the  long,  measured,  and  seemingly-difficult 
breathing  of  sleeping  persons. 

I  prepare  to  rise  .  .  .  but  lo !  again  something 
has  hissed  ....  then  suddenly  there  is  a  groan 

315 


THE  WATCH 

....  something  soft  has  fallen— and  a  whisper 
is  wafted  abroad,  a  whisper  glides  along  the 
walls.  .  .  . 

Or,  is  there  nothing  of  all  this,  and  is  it  only 
my  imagination  teasing  me? 

Everything  has  grown  dead  still  at  last:  the 
very  core  and  pitchiness  and  dead  of  the  night  has 
come. — 'T  is  time!  Shivering  all  over  in  an- 
ticipation, I  fling  aside  the  coverlet,  lower  my 
feet  to  the  floor,  stand  up.  .  .  .  One  step,  a  sec- 
ond. .  .  I  crawl  stealthily  on.  The  hollows  of 
my  feet  seem  to  belong  to  some  one  else :  they  are 
heavy,  they  step  weakly  and  uncertainly.  Stay! 
What  sound  is  that?  Is  some  one  sawing  some- 
where, or  scraping  ....  or  sighing?  I  listen  .  .  . 
Chills  course  over  my  cheeks,  cold,  watery  tears 
well  up  in  my  eyes.  .  .  .  Never  mind!  .  .  .  . 
Again  I  crawl  forward.  It  is  dark;  but  I  know 
the  way.  Suddenly  I  collide  with  a  chair.  .  .  . 
What  a  clatter,  and  how  painful !  The  blow  has 
taken  me  straight  on  the  shin.  ...  I  become  pet- 
rified on  the  spot.  .  .  .  Well,  will  they  wake  up? 
Ah!  I  care  nothing!  Suddenly  daring  appears, 
and  even  wrath.  Forward!  Forward!  And 
now  I  have  traversed  the  dining-room;  now  I 
have  groped  for  and  found  the  door,  and  have 
opened  it  with  one  turn,  with  a  flourish.  .  .  . 
How  that  cursed  hinge  squeaks  ....  damn  it! 
Now  I  am  ascending  the  stairs.  .  .  .  One!  two! 
three !    A  stair  has  creaked  under  my  foot ;  I  dart 

816 


THE  WATCH 

a  vicious  glance  at  it — just  as  though  I  could  see 
it.  And  I  have  grasped  the  handle  of  the  second 
door.  .  .  .  This  one  did  not  even  squeak!  It 
swung  open  lightly,  as  much  as  to  say:  "Pray, 
enter!"  .  .  .  And  now  I  am  already  in  the  Uttle 
corridor ! 

High  up  in  the  corridor,  near  the  ceiling,  is  a 
little  window.  The  faint  nocturnal  light  barely 
sifts  through  the  dark  panes.  And  in  that  flick- 
ering light  I  behold,  stretched  out  on  a  felt  upon 
the  floor,  with  both  arms  thrown  over  her  head, 
our  little  runaway  girl;  she  is  sleeping  soundly, 
breathing  rapidly,  and  right  at  her  very  head 
is  the  fateful  door.  I  step  over  the  felt,  across 
the  girl.  .  .  .  Who  opened  that  door  for  me.  .  .  . 
I  know  not;  but  now  I  am  in  my  aunt's  room; 
there  is  the  shrine-lamp  in  one  corner,  and  the 
bed  in  another,  and  my  aunt  in  cap  and  night- 
dress is  on  the  bed,  with  her  face  turned  toward 
me.  She  is  sleeping,  and  does  not  stir;  even  her 
breath  is  not  audible.  The  flame  of  the  shrine- 
lamp  flickers  softly,  agitated  by  the  current  of 
fresh  air;  and  all  over  the  room,  and  over  my 
aunt's  face,  which  resembles  yellow  wax,  the 
shadows  begin  to  waver.  .  .  . 

And  there  is  the  watch!  Behind  the  bed,  on 
the  wall  it  hangs,  on  a  small  embroidered  cushion. 
What  luck,  I  think  to  myself!  ...  I  must  not 
delay!  But  whose  footsteps  are  those,  soft  and 
swift,  behind  my  back?     Akh,  no!  that  is  the 

317 


THE  WATCH 

beating  of  my  heart!  ...  I  advance  one  foot. 
.  .  .  Heavens!  Something  round,  fairly  large, 
hits  me  below  the  knee  ....  once!  and  yet 
again !  I  am  ready  to  shriek  aloud,  I  am  ready  to 
fall  to  the  floor  vi^ith  fright.  ...  A  striped  cat, 
our  household  cat,  is  standing  before  me,  with 
arched  back  and  tail  in  air.  Now  he  springs  upon 
the  bed — heavily — and  softly  turns  himself  about, 
and  sits  down,  without  purring,  like  a  judge;  sits 
there  and  glares  at  me  with  his  golden  pupils! 
"  Puss !  puss ! "  I  whisper,  in  barely  audible  tones. 
I  bend  across  my  aunt,  I  already  have  the  watch 
in  my  grasp.  .  .  .  She  suddenly  sits  up,  opens 
her  eyelids  wide.  .  .  .  O  my  Creator !  What  will 
happen  now?  ....  But  her  eyelids  quiver  and 
close,  and  with  a  faint  babble  her  head  falls  back 
on  the  pillow. 

Another  minute  and  I  am  back  in  my  own 
room,  in  my  bed,  with  my  watch  in  my  hands.  .  .  . 
More  lightly  than  a  tuft  of  down  did  I  dash  back! 
I  am  a  gallant  fellow,  I  am  a  thief,  I  am  a  hero; 
I  am  panting  with  joy,  I  feel  burning  hot,  I  feel 
jolly— I  want  to  wake  up  David  on  the  spot  and 
tell  him  everything— and,  incredible  to  relate!  I 
fall  fast  asleep,  like  one  dead !  At  last  I  open  my 
eyes.  .  .  .  The  room  is  light;  the  sun  has  already 
risen.  Fortunately,  no  one  is  awake  as  yet.  I 
spring  up  like  one  scalded,  arouse  David,  and 
narrate  all  to  him.    He  listens  with  a  grin. 

"See  here,"— he  says  to  me  at  last,— "let's 

818 


THE  WATCH 

bury  that  idiotic  watch  in  the  earth,  so  that  no 
trace  of  it  may  remain  I " 

I  consider  this  a  splendid  idea.  In  a  few  min- 
utes we  are  both  dressed  and  run  into  the  fruit- 
garden  which  is  situated  behind  our  house,  and 
beneath  an  ancient  apple-tree,  in  a  deep  hole 
hastily  excavated,  with  David's  big  knife,  in  the 
porous  spring  soil,  we  conceal  forever  the  hated 
gift  of  my  godfather,  which  after  all  has  not 
reached  the  hands  of  the  repulsive  Trankvilli- 
tatin!  We  tread  down  the  hole,  fling  rubbish 
over  it,  and,  proud  and  happy,  we  regain  the 
house  without  having  been  seen  by  any  one,  get 
into  our  beds  and  sleep  another  hour  or  two — 
and  with  what  a  light,  blissful  slumber! 

X 

You  can  picture  to  yourself  what  an  uproar 
arose  the  next  morning  as  soon  as  my  aunt  woke 
up  and  discovered  the  loss  of  the  watch!  Her 
piercing  shriek  still  rings  in  my  ears.  "Police! 
Thieves!  Thieves!"  she  shrilled,  and  roused  the 
w^hole  household  on  foot.  She  went  into  a  wild 
rage,  but  David  and  I  only  smiled  to  ourselves, 
and  sweet  was  our  smile  to  us. 

"Every  one  must  receive  a  sound  thrashing, 
every  one!" — screamed  my  aunt.  "My  watch 
has  been  stolen  from  under  my  head,  from  under 
my  pillow!" 

319 


THE  WATCH 

We  were  prepared  for  anything;  we  antici- 
pated a  catastrophe  .  .  .  but,  contrary  to  our  ex- 
pectations, no  catastrophe  whatever  crashed  down 
upon  our  heads.  At  first,  it  is  true,  my  father 
made  a  tremendous  fuss— he  even  spoke  of  the 
poHce;  but  probably  the  row  of  the  day  before 
had  thoroughly  bored  him,  and  he  suddenly,  to 
the  indescribable  amazement  of  my  aunt,  pounced 
not  upon  us,  but  upon  her! 

"  I  'm  sick  of  you,— more  sick  than  of  a  bit- 
ter radish,— Pulkheriya  Petrovna,"— he  yelled, 
"  and  of  your  watch!  I  won't  hear  another  word 
about  it!  You  say  that  it  did  not  disappear 
through  sorcery;  but  what  do  I  care  about  that? 
I  don't  care  if  it  was  sorcery !  Has  it  been  stolen 
from  you?  Well,  let  it  go!  What  will  Nastasyei 
Nastasyeitch  say?  The  devil  fly  away  with  him 
altogether,  with  that  Nastasyeitch  of  yours!  I 
get  nothing  but  offences  and  unpleasantnesses 
out  of  him.  Don't  dare  to  bother  me  any  more! 
Do  you  hear?" 

My  father  banged  the  door,  and  went  oif  to 
his  study. 

At  first  David  and  I  did  not  understand  the 
hint  contained  in  his  last  words;  but  later  on  we 
learned  that  my  father  was  extremely  indignant 
at  my  godfather  at  that  very  time,  because  the 
latter  had  snatched  away  from  him  a  good  bit 
of  business.  And  so  my  aunt  was  left  in  the 
lurch.     She  almost  burst  with  wrath,  but  there 

320 


THE  WATCH 

was  nothing  to  be  done.  She  was  compelled  to 
content  herself  with  saying  in  a  whisper  as  she 
passed  me,  making  a  wry  face  in  my  direction: 
"Thief,  thief,  convict,  rascal!"— My  aunt's  re- 
proaches aiForded  me  genuine  delight.  It  was 
also  very  pleasant,  when  skirting  along  the  fence, 
to  glide  a  feignedly-indifferent  eye  at  the  spot 
under  the  apple-tree  where  the  watch  reposed; 
and  if  David  were  there  also,  to  exchange  with 
him  a  significant  grimace.  .  .  . 

My  aunt  took  it  into  her  head  to  hound  Trank- 
villitatin  on  me,  but  I  had  recourse  to  David's  as- 
sistance. He  immediately  announced  to  the  stal- 
wart seminarist  that  he  would  slit  open  his  belly 
with  a  knife  if  he  did  not  let  me  alone.  .  .  . 
Trankvillitatin  was  scared.  Although  he  was  a 
grenadier  and  a  cavalier,  according  to  my  aunt's 
expression,  yet  he  was  not  distinguished  for  his 
valour. 

Thus  five  weeks  passed.  .  .  .  But  do  you  think 
the  story  of  the  watch  ended  thus?  No;  it  was 
not  ended;  only,  in  order  to  continue  my  tale, 
I  must  introduce  a  new  personage;  and  in  order 
to  introduce  this  new  personage,  I  must  go  back 
a  little. 

XI 

My  father  had  long  been  friendly,  even  intimate, 
with  a  certain  retired  official,  Latkin,  a  lame,  mis- 
erable httle  man  with  strange  and  timid  ways — 

321 


THE  WATCH 

one  of  those  beings  concerning  whom  the  proverb 
was  fabricated  that  they  have  been  slain  by  God 
himself.  Like  my  father  and  Nastasyei,  he  oc- 
cupied himself  with  soliciting  lawsuits  and  was 
also  a  private  "lawyer"  and  attorney;  but  as  he 
possessed  neither  an  imposing  exterior  nor  the 
gift  of  words,  and  had  too  little  confidence  in  him- 
self, he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  act  inde- 
pendently, and  stuck  close  to  my  father.  His 
chirography  was  "  a  regular  string  of  pearls,"  he 
was  thoroughly  grounded  in  the  statutes  and  had 
acquired  to  perfection  all  the  intricacies  of  style 
required  for  legal  documents  and  petitions.  In 
company  with  my  father  he  managed  certain  af- 
fairs, shared  the  profit  and  loss,  and,  apparently, 
nothing  could  shake  their  friendship;  but,  never- 
theless, it  crumbled  to  ruin  in  one  day — and  for- 
ever. My  father  quarrelled  for  good  and  all  with 
his  colleague.  If  Latkin  had  snatched  away 
from  my  father  some  profitable  business  after  the 
manner  of  Nastasyei,  who  replaced  him  later  on, 
my  father  would  have  been  no  more  angry  with 
him  than  with  Nastasyei, — probably  he  would 
have  been  even  less  angry ;  but  Latkin,  under  the 
influence  of  some  inexplicable,  incomprehensible 
feeling — envy  or  greed — and  perhaps  also  under 
the  momentary  inspiration  of  honour, — "gave 
away  "  my  father,  betrayed  him  to  their  common 
client,  a  wealthy  young  merchant,  by  opening  the 
eyes  of  that  heedless  youth  to  certain   .... 

322 


THE  WATCH 

certain  tricks  which  were  designed  to  yield  my 
father  considerable  profit.  It  was  not  the  mone- 
tary loss,  great  as  that  was — no!  but  the  treach- 
ery which  hurt  and  enraged  my  father.  He  could 
not  forgive  slyness ! 

"  Just  see,  a  saint  has  made  his  appearance! " — 
he  reiterated,  all  trembling  with  wrath,  and  with 
teeth  chattering  as  though  in  a  fever.  I  was 
present  in  the  room  and  was  a  witness  of  this  out- 
rageous scene.— "Good!  From  this  day  forth— 
amen!  All  is  at  an  end  between  us.  Yonder  is 
God  and  yonder  is  the  threshold — begone !  I  shall 
not  set  my  foot  in  thy  house,  and  do  not  thou  set 
thy  foot  in  mine !  Thou  'rt  too  awfully  honest  for 
me— how  can  thou  and  I  do  business  together! 
But  thou  shalt  have  neither  bottom  nor  cover! "  ^ 

In  vain  did  Latkin  beseech  my  father,  and  bow 
to  the  earth  before  him;  in  vain  did  he  strive  to 
explain  that  which  filled  his  own  soul  with  painful 
surprise. 

"  But  it  was  utterly  without  profit  for  myself, 
Porfiry  Petrovitch,"  he  stammered:  "I  cut  my 
own  throat,  you  know ! " 

My  father  remained  inflexible  ....  Latkin 
never  set  foot  in  our  house  again.  Fate  itself, 
apparently,  conceived  a  desire  to  put  into  execu- 
tion my  father's  last,  cruel  wish.  Soon  after  the 
rupture  (it  took  place  a  couple  of  years  before 
the  beginning  of  my  story)  Latkin's  wife— who 

1  Neither  floor  nor  roof.— Thanslator. 

323 


THE  WATCH 

had  long  been  ill,  it  is  true— died;  his  second 
daughter,  a  child  of  three  years,  was  stricken  deaf 
and  dumb  with  terror  in  one  day:  a  swarm  of 
bees  settled  down  on  her  head;  Latkin  himself 
suffered  a  stroke  of  apoplexy,  and  fell  into  ex- 
treme and  definitive  poverty.  How  he  got  along, 
on  what  he  subsisted,  it  was  difficult  even  to  im- 
agine. He  dwelt  in  a  half -ruined  little  hut,  at  a 
short  distance  from  our  house.  Raisa  also  lived 
with  him,  and  did  her  best  with  the  housekeeping. 
This  Raisa  is  the  new  personage  whom  I  must 
introduce  into  my  story. 

XII 

So  long  as  her  father  and  mine  were  friends,  we 
saw  her  constantly;  she  sometimes  sat  for  whole 
days  together  at  our  house  and  either  sewed  or 
spun  with  her  delicate,  nimble  and  skilful  hands. 
She  was  a  graceful,  rather  thin  young  girl,  with 
intelligent  brown  eyes  in  a  white,  rather  long  face. 
She  spoke  little,  but  to  the  point,  in  a  quiet,  reso- 
nant voice,  hardly  opening  her  mouth,  and  with- 
out displaying  her  teeth;  when  she  laughed — 
which  rarely  happened,  and  did  not  last  long— 
they  suddenly  all  revealed  themselves,  large,  white 
as  almonds.  I  remember  also  her  walk,  which  was 
light  and  elastic,  with  a  little  skip  at  every  step ; 
it  always  seemed  to  me  as  though  she  were  de- 
scending a  flight  of  stairs,  even  when  she  was 

324 


THE  WATCH 

walking  on  level  ground.  She  held  herself  up- 
right, with  arms  pressed  close  to  her  breast.  And 
whatever  she  did,  whatever  she  undertook, — whe- 
ther she  threaded  a  needle,  or  smoothed  a  petticoat 
with  an  iron,— she  did  everything  well,  and  .  .  . 
you  will  not  believe  it  ...  in  a  touching  sort  of 
way.  Her  Christian  name  was  Raisa,  but  we 
called  her  "  Black-lip  ":  she  had  on  her  upper  lip 
a  birth-mark,— a  small,  dark-blue  spot,  as  though 
she  had  been  eating  blackberries.  But  this  did  not 
deface  her:  quite  the  contrary.  She  was  just  one 
year  older  than  David.  I  cherished  for  her  a  sen- 
timent akin  to  reverence,  but  she  had  little  to  do 
with  me.  On  the  other  hand,  between  David  and 
her  a  great  friendship  sprang  up — a  strange,  un- 
childish,  but  good  friendship.  They  seemed  to 
suit  each  other.  They  sometimes  did  not  ex- 
change a  word  for  whole  hours  at  a  stretch,  but 
each  felt  that  things  were  well  with  them— and 
that  because  they  were  together.  I  have  never 
met  any  other  girl  like  her,  really.  There  was  in 
her  something  attentive  and  decisive,  something 
honourable  and  sad  and  charming.  I  never  heard 
her  utter  a  clever  word,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  I 
never  heard  a  commonplace  from  her,  and  more 
intelligent  eyes  I  have  never  seen.  When  the 
rupture  occurred  between  her  family  and  mine  I 
began  to  see  her  rarely :  my  father  forbade  me,  in 
the  strictest  manner,  to  visit  the  Latkins — and  she 
no  longer  showed  herself  in  our  house.    But  I  was 

325 


THE  WATCH 

in  the  habit  of  meeting  her  on  the  street,  and  in 
church,  and  Black-hp  still  inspired  me  with  the 
same  sentiments :  respect  and  even  a  certain  admi- 
ration rather  than  compassion.  She  had  borne  her 
reverses  well.  "  She 's  a  girl  of  flint,"  the  coarse 
Trankvillitatin  himself  had  said  of  her  one  day. 
And  really  she  was  to  be  pitied :  her  face  had  as- 
sumed a  careworn,  suffering  expression,  her  eyes 
had  become  hollow  and  sunken — an  intolerable 
burden  was  imposed  upon  her  young  shoulders. 

David  saw  her  much  more  frequently  than  I 
did ;  he  even  went  to  their  house.  My  father  al- 
lowed him  to  do  as  he  pleased;  he  knew  that 
David  would  not  obey  him  in  any  case.  And 
Raisa  presented  herself  at  the  wattled  fence  of 
our  garden,  from  time  to  time,  where  it  abutted 
on  the  alley,  and  there  met  David;  she  did  not 
conduct  a  conversation  with  him,  but  merely  com- 
municated to  him  some  fresh  difficulty  or  new  dis- 
aster, and  asked  his  advice. 

The  paralysis  which  had  smitten  Latkin  was 
of  a  very  peculiar  nature.  His  arms  and  legs  had 
grown  weak,  but  he  had  not  lost  the  use  of  them, 
and  his  brain  even  worked  regularly ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  his  tongue  got  entangled  and  instead 
of  one  set  of  words  he  employed  quite  another  set ; 
one  was  forced  to  guess  at  what  he  meant  to  say. 

..."  Tchu-tchu-tchu,"  he  stammered  with  an 
eff^ort  (he  began  every  sentence  with  "tchu-tchu- 
tchu  ")  — "  the  scissors;  give  me  the  scissors  .  .  .  ." 

326 


THE  WATCH 

But  by  the  scissors  he  meant  to  indicate  bread.  He 
hated  my  father  with  all  the  strength  that  was  left 
to  him;  he  attributed  to  his  curse  all  his  misfor- 
tunes and  called  him  sometimes  a  butcher,  some- 
times a  jeweller.  "  Tchu-tchu,  don't  dare  to  go 
to  the  jeweller's,  Vasilievna!"  He  had  rechris- 
tened  his  daughter  by  this  name,  while  his  own 
name  was  Martinyan.^  He  grew  more  exacting 
every  day;  his  wants  increased.  .  .  .  And  how 
were  those  wants  to  be  supplied?  Where  was  the 
money  to  come  from?  Woe  ages  a  person  fast; 
but  it  makes  one  shudder  to  hear  certain  words  on 
the  lips  of  a  girl  of  seventeen. 


XIII 

I  REMEMBER  that  I  happened  to  be  present  at  her 
conversation  by  the  fence  with  David,  on  the  very 
day  of  her  mother's  death. 

"  Mamma  died  at  dawn  this  morning,"  she  said, 
after  first  having  glanced  about  her  with  her  dark, 
expressive  eyes,  and  then  fixed  them  on  the 
ground.  "  The  cook  has  undertaken  to  buy  the 
coffin  as  cheaply  as  possible;  and  we  cannot  rely 
upon  her ;  she  will  probably  spend  the  money  for 
liquor.  It  would  be  well  for  thee  to  come  round 
and  take  a  look,  David :  she  is  afraid  of  thee." 

^  Consequently,  his  daughter  should  have  been  called 
Raisa  Martinyanovna. — Trakslatob. 

327 


THE  WATCH 

"  I  '11  come,"  replied  David;  "  I  '11  see  to  it 

But  how  about  thy  father? " 

"  He  is  weeping;  he  says, '  You  will  be  spoiling 
me,  too.'  '  You  will  spoil '  must  mean— you  will 
bury.  Now  he  has  fallen  asleep."  Raisa  sud- 
denly heaved  a  deep  sigh.— "  Akh,  David,  Davi- 
dushko!"^  She  passed  her  half-clenched  fist 
across  her  forehead  and  brows,  and  this  gesture 
was  very  bitter  .  .  .  and  very  sincere  and  beau- 
tiful, as  were  all  her  gestures. 

"  But  do  have  some  pity  on  thyself,"  remarked 
David.—"  Thou  hast  not  slept  at  all,  I  am  sure. 
.  .  .  And  what  is  the  use  of  crying?  It  will  not 
remedy  thy  grief." 

"  I  have  no  time  to  weep,"  rephed  Raisa. 

"Rich  folks  can  indulge  themselves  in  that 
way,  in  weeping,"  remarked  David. 

Raisa  started  to  go,  but  turned  back. 

"  They  are  bargaining  with  us  for  the  yellow 
shawl  from  mamma's  wedding  outfit.  They  offer 
twelve  rubles.    I  think  that  is  very  little." 

"  So  it  is, — very  little." 

"  I  would  prefer  not  to  sell  it,"  went  on  Raisa, 
after  a  brief  pause,— "but  we  must  have  money 
for  the  funeral,  you  know." 

"  You  must.  Only  you  must  not  spend  money 
at  random.  Those  priests  are— the  mischief !  Here, 
wait  a  bit,  I'll  come  round.  Art  thou  going? 
—1*11  be  there  very  soon.    Good-bye,  dear." 

1  Or  "dear  little  David."— Translator. 

328 


THE  WATCH 

"  Good-bye,  dear  brother,  darling! " 

"  See  here  now,  don't  cry!  " 

"How  should  I  cry?  I  must  either  cook  the 
dinner  or  cry.    One  of  the  two." 

"  What  does  she  mean  by  cooking  the  dinner? " 
I  asked,  turning  to  David,  as  soon  as  Raisa  had 
departed.  "Do  you  mean  to  say  that  she  pre- 
pares the  food  herself?" 

"  Why,  surely  thou  didst  hear  her  say  that  the 
cook  has  gone  to  bargain." 

"  Prepare  the  dinner,"  I  thought,  "  and  her 
hands  have  always  been  so  clean,  and  her  gown  so 
neat.  ...  I  should  like  to  see  how  she  would 
manage  in  the  kitchen.  ...  A  remarkable  girl!" 

I  remember  another  conversation  at  the  fence. 
On  this  occasion  Raisa  had  brought  with  her  her 
little  deaf  and  dumb  sister.  This  sister  was  a 
pretty  child,  with  huge,  surprised  eyes,  and  a 
whole  mass  of  dull  black  hair  on  her  little  head. 
(Raisa's  hair  also  was  black,  and  without  lustre.) 
Latkin  had  already  been  smitten  with  paralysis. 

"  I  really  do  not  know  what  I  am  to  do,"  began 
Raisa.— "The  doctor  has  written  a  prescription, 
and  I  must  go  to  the  apothecary's;  and  our 
wretched  little  peasant"  (Latkin  still  owned  one 
serf  soul)  "has  brought  fuel  and  a  goose  from 
the  village.  But  the  yard-porter  is  taking  it 
away; '  you  are  in  debt  to  me,'  he  says." 

Is  he  taking  away  the  goose? "  asked  David. 
No,  not  the  goose.    '  It 's  old,'  he  says ;  '  't  is 

329 


THE  WATCH 

good  for  nothing  any  more.  That  's  why  the 
peasant  has  brought  it  to  you,'  he  says.  But  he  is 
taking  the  wood." 

"But  he  has  no  right  to  do  that!"  exclaimed 
David. 

"  He  has  no  right,  but  he  is  taking  it.  ...  I 
went  to  the  garret;  we  have  a  trunk  standing 
there — an  old,  a  very  old  trunk.  I  began  to  rum- 
mage in  it.  .  .  And  what  do  you  think  I  found? 
Look!" 

She  drew  from  under  her  kerchief  a  fairly  large 
telescope,  mounted  in  brass,  and  covered  with 
morocco  which  had  turned  yellow.  David,  in  his 
quality  of  a  lover  and  connoisseur  of  all  sorts  of 
instruments,  immediately  seized  it. 

"  English,"  he  said,  applying  it  to  one  ej^e,  then 
to  the  other.— "A  naval  glass." 

"And  the  lens  is  whole,"  pursued  Raisa. — "I 
showed  it  to  papa ;  he  said,  '  Carry  it  to  the 
jeweller  and  pawn  it!'  What  dost  thou  think 
about  it?  Will  they  give  me  money  for  it? 
For  of  what  use  to  us  is  a  telescope?  Can  we 
use  it  as  a  looking-glass  to  see  what  beauties 
we  are?  But  we  have  no  looking-glass,  unfortu- 
nately." 

And  as  she  uttered  these  words,  Raisa  suddenly 
burst  into  a  loud  laugh.  Her  little  sister  could 
not  hear  her,  of  course,  but  probably  felt  the  quiv- 
ering of  her  body  (she  was  holding  Raisa  by  the 
Iiand),  and  lifting  her  large  eyes,  she  contorted 

330 


THE  WATCH 

her  little  face  in  a  frightened  way,  and  burst  into 
tears. 

"  That  's  the  way  she  always  is,"  remarked 
Raisa;  "  she  does  not  like  to  have  people  laugh." 

"  Come,  I  won't  do  it  again,  Liubotchka,  I 
won't  do  it  again,"  she  added,  promptly  squatting 
dow7i  on  her  heels  beside  the  child  and  running 
her  fingers  through  her  hair.  The  child  ceased 
crying.    Raisa  rose  to  her  feet. 

"So  pray  do  thy  best,  Davidushko  .  .  .  with 
the  telescope,  I  mean.  For  't  is  a  pity  about 
the  wood,— and  the  goose  also,  no  matter  how  old 
it  is!" 

"  I  can  certainly  get  ten  rubles  for  it,"  said 
David,  turning  the  glass  about  in  all  directions. 
—  "I  '11  buy  it  from  thee  .  .  .  why  not?  And  in 
the  meantime,  here  are  fifteen  kopeks  for  the 
apothecary.  .  .  .  Is  that  enough  ? " 

"  I  will  borrow  it  of  thee,"  whispered  Raisa,  ac- 
cepting the  coin  from  him. 

"Of  course!  With  interest— would st  like 
that?  Yes,  and  I  have  a  pledge.  A  very  valuable 
article!  .  .  .  The  English  are  first-class  people." 

"  But  they  say  that  w^e  are  going  to  war  with 
them?" 

"No,"  replied  David,  "we  are  thrashing  the 
French  at  present." 

"Well— thou  knowest  best.  So  do  thy  best. 
Farewell,  gentlemen!" 


831 


THE  WATCH 


XIV 

And  here  is  another  conversation  which  also  took 
place  at  that  same  fence.  Raisa  appeared  more 
anxious  than  usual. 

"  A  head  of  cabbage  costs  five  kopeks,  and  the 
head  is  such  a  wee,  tiny  bit  of  a  thing,"  she  said, 
propping  her  chin  on  her  hand. — "  Just  think 
how  dear !  And  I  have  n't  yet  received  the  money 
for  my  sewing." 

"  Is  some  one  in  debt  to  thee? "  asked  David. 

"  Why,  it  is  still  that  same  merchant's  wife  who 
lives  beyond  the  ramparts." 

"  The  one  who  wears  a  green  coat,*  the  fat 
one?" 

"  Yes,  she 's  the  one." 

"What  a  fat  creature!  She  can't  get  her 
breath  for  fat,  and  in  church  throws  off  a  steam, 
but  does  n't  pay  her  debts  I " 

"  She  will  pay  ....  only  when  will  it  be? 
And  here  is  something  else,  Davidushko,  some 
fresh  worries.  My  father  has  taken  it  into  his 
head  to  narrate  his  dreams  to  me— thou  knowest 
how  tongue-tied  he  has  become:  he  tries  to  say 
one  word  and  another  comes  out  instead.  When 
it  is  a  question  of  food,  or  of  anything  connected 

1  The  coat  in  question  is  of  plebeian  shape,  in  use  among  the  peas- 
ants. It  has  sleeves,  short  skirts,  a  round  turn-down  collar,  and  is 
trimmed  all  round  with  a  ribbon  border.  It  is  fitted  to  the  figure 
and  hooked  up. — Thanslatoe. 

832 


THE  WATCH 

with  daily  life,  we  have  already  hecome  used  to 
him,  we  can  understand;  but  a  dream  is  unintel- 
ligible even  with  healthy  people,  while  in  his 
case  it  is  dreadful!  'I  'm  greatly  dehghted,'  he 
says;  'to-day  I  was  walking  about  the  whole 
time  on  white  birds ;  and  the  Lord  God  gave  me 
a  pouquet,  and  in  the  pouquet  sat  Andriiisha  with 
a  little  knife.'— He  calls  our  Liiibotchka  An- 
driiisha.—'Now  we  are  both  going  to  get  well,* 
he  says.  '  All  that  is  needed  is  to  use  the  knife— 
tchirk!  Like  that!'  and  he  points  to  his  throat. 
—I  don't  understand  him.  I  say:  'Very  well, 
dear,  very  well';  but  he  gets  angry  and  tries 
to  explain  the  matter  to  me.  He  even  took  to 
weeping." 

"  But  thou  shouldst  have  told  him  some  tale  or 
other,"  I  interposed:  "thou  shouldst  have  in- 
vented some  he  or  other." 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  lie,"  replied  Raisa,  fairly 
flinging  her  hands  apart  in  despair. 

And  it  was  a  fact ;  she  did  not  know  how  to  lie. 

"  It  is  not  necessary  to  lie,"  remarked  David, 
"  and  there  is  no  need  for  wearing  thyself  to  death 
either.    No  one  will  say  '  Thank  you,'  I  'm  sure." 

Raisa  looked  intently  at  him. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  something  of  thee,  Davi- 
dushko;  how  should  one  write  ' shtop'?" 

"What  does  ' shtop'  mean?" 

"Why,  here,  for  example:  'I  wish  that  thou 
shouldst  live.' " 

333 


THE  WATCH 

"Writeish,  t,  o,  b,  er!"^ 

"  No,"  I  put  in:  "  not  sh,  but  tch!" 

"Well,  never  mind,  write  tch!  But  the  chief 
point  IS  that  thou  shouldst  take  care  of  thyself ! " 

"  I  should  like  to  write  correctly,"  remarked 
Raisa,  blushing  faintly. 

When  she  blushed  she  immediately  became 
wonderfully  pretty. 

"  It  may  prove  useful.  .  .  .  How  papa  used  to 
write  in  his  day!  ...  It  was  wonderful!  And 
he  taught  me.  Well,  but  now  he  deciphers  the 
letters  badly." 

"  Only  let  me  keep  thee  alive,"  repeated  David, 
lowering  his  voice  and  never  taking  his  eyes  from 
Raisa.  Raisa  darted  a  swift  glance  at  him  and 
blushed  worse  than  before.  —  "  Only  do  thou  live. 
....  And  as  for  writing  .  .  .  write  as  best  thou 
canst.  .  .  Oh,  damn  it,  the  witch  is  coming! " 
(David  called  my  aunt  "the  witch.")  "And 
what  is  bringing  her  hither?  .  .  .  Run  away,  my 
darling!" 

Raisa  darted  one  more  glance  at  David  and 
fled. 

David  spoke  to  me  very  rarely  and  reluctantly 
about  Raisa  and  her  family,  especially  since  he 

^  Er  is  the  name  of  the  character  denoting  that  the  preceding  con- 
sonant has  the  hard,  not  the  soft,  pronunciation.  All  terminal  con- 
sonants, and  many  which  are  not  terminal,  have  one  or  other  of  two 
characters  affixed,  and  it  is  necessary  to  specify  which  is  requiredv 
Tchtob  (or,  in  full,  tchtoby)  means  that,  or  in  order  ^Aa^— Thanslatob. 

334! 


THE  WATCH 

had  begun  to  look  for  his  father's  return.  He 
thought  of  nothing  but  him,  and  of  how  they 
would  live  together  afterward.  He  had  a  vivid 
recollection  of  him,  and  was  wont  to  describe  him 
to  me  with  particular  satisfaction. 

"  He  is  tall  and  strong:  he  can  lift  ten  puds  ^ 
with  one  hand.  .  .  .  When  he  shouts  '  Hey  there, 
young  fellow!'— it  can  be  heard  throughout  the 
house.  He's  such  a  splendid,  kind  man  .  .  .  . 
and  a  gallant  fellow!  He  never  quailed  before 
any  one.  We  lived  in  capital  style  until  we  were 
ruined!  They  say  his  hair  has  grown  quite  grey 
now,  but  formerly  it  was  as  red  as  mine.  He 's  a 
ve-ry  stro-ong  man ! " 

David  absolutely  refused  to  admit  that  we 
should  remain  in  Ryazan. 

"  You  may  go  away,"  I  remarked,  "  but  I  shall 
remain." 

"  Nonsense !   We  will  take  thee  with  us." 

"  And  how  about  my  father? " 

"  Thou  wilt  abandon  thy  father.  And  if  thou 
dost  not— thou  wilt  go  to  destruction." 

"  What  dost  thou  mean  by  that? " 

David  did  not  answer  me,  and  merely  con- 
tracted his  white  brows. 

"  So  then,  when  we  go  away  with  my  daddy," 
he  began  again,  "  he  will  find  thee  a  good  place, 
and  I  shall  marry.  ..." 

1  A  pud  is  36  pounds  English.— Thakslatob. 

335 


THE  WATCH 

"  Well,  there 's  no  great  haste  about  that,"  I  re- 
marked. 

"  Yes,  there  is.  Why  not?  I  shall  marry  soon." 

"Thou?" 

"Yes,  I.    Why?" 

"  Surely  thou  hast  not  thine  eye  on  a  bride  al- 
ready?" 

"  Of  course  I  have." 

"Who  is  she?" 

David  laughed. 

"  What  a  stupid  thou  art!    Raisa,  of  course." 

"  Raisa!"  I  repeated,  with  amazement.— "Art 
thou  jesting?" 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  jest,  my  dear  fellow,  and 
I  don't  like  it  either." 

"  Why,  she  is  a  year  older  than  thou." 

"  What  of  that?  However,  let  us  drop  the  sub- 
ject." 

"Permit  me  to  ask  one  question,"  I  said. — 
"  Does  she  know  that  thou  art  preparing  to  marry 
her?" 

"  Probably." 

"But  hast  not  thou  revealed  an}i;hing  to 
her?" 

"What  is  there  to  reveal?  When  the  time 
comes,  I  shall  tell  her.    Come,  enough  of  this ! " 

David  rose  and  left  the  room.  When  I  was 
alone  I  thought  .  .  .  and  thought  .  .  .  and 
finally  came  to  the  conclusion  that  David  was  be- 
having like  a  sensible  and  practical  man;  and  I 

836 


THE  WATCH 

even  felt  flattered  at  being  the  friend  of  such  a 
practical  man! 

And  Raisa,  in  her  everlasting  black  woollen 
gown,  suddenly  began  to  appear  charming  and 
worthy  of  the  most  devoted  love  1 

XV 

David's  father  still  did  not  arrive  and  did  not 
even  send  letters.  Summer  had  long  since  come, 
the  month  of  June  was  drawing  to  a  close.  We 
were  worn  out  with  anticipation. 

In  the  meantime  rumours  began  to  circulate  to 
the  effect  that  Latkin  had  suddenly  grown  much 
worse,  and  the  first  any  one  knew,  his  family 
would  die  of  hunger,  if  the  house  did  not  tumble 
down  and  crush  them  all  under  the  roof.  David 
even  changed  countenance  and  became  so  vicious 
and  surly  that  one  dared  not  speak  to  him.  I  did 
not  meet  Raisa  at  all.  Now  and  then  she  flitted 
past  at  a  distance,  tripping  briskly  across  the 
street  with  her  beautiful  light  gait,  straight  as  an 
arrow,  with  folded  arms,  a  dark  and  intelligent 
look  under  her  long  eyebrows,  and  a  careworn  ex- 
pression on  her  pale,  sweet  face— that  was  all. 

My  aunt,  with  the  assistance  of  her  Trankvilli- 
tatin,  tormented  me  as  of  old,  and  as  of  old  she 
kept  whispering  reproachfully  in  my  very  ear: 
"  Thief,  sir,  thief!  "  But  I  paid  no  attention  to 
her;  and  my  father  continued  to  bustle,  work 

837 


THE  WATCH 

sedulously,  run  about  and  write,  and  would  not 
listen  to  anything. 

One  day,  as  I  was  walking  past  the  familiar 
apple-tree,  I  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  the  well- 
known  spot,  more  as  a  matter  of  habit  than  any- 
thing else,  and  suddenly  it  struck  me  that  a  cer- 
tain change  had  taken  place  in  the  surface  of  the 
ground  which  covered  our  hoard.  ...  A  sort  of 
hump  had  made  its  appearance  where  there  had 
previously  been  a  depression,  and  bits  of  the  rub- 
bish were  lying  in  a  different  position !  ''  What 's 
the  meaning  of  this? "  I  thought  to  rnyself.  "  Is 
it  possible  that  some  one  has  penetrated  our  secret 
and  has  dug  up  the  watch? " 

I  must  convince  myself  with  my  own  eyes.  I 
felt  the  most  complete  indifference,  of  course, 
toward  the  watch  rusting  there  in  the  bowels 
of  the  earth;  but  no  other  person  could  be  per- 
mitted to  make  use  of  it!  Accordingly,  on  the 
following  day  I  rose  before  dawn  once  more,  and 
arming  myself  with  a  knife,  I  wended  my  way 
to  the  garden,  hunted  up  the  marked  spot 
beneath  the  apple-tree,  set  to  digging,  and 
after  digging  a  hole  about  two  feet  deep,  I  was 
forced  to  the  conviction  that  the  watch  had  dis- 
appeared; that  some  one  had  got  at  it,  taken  it 
out,  stolen  it! 

But  who  could  have  .  .  .  taken  it  out — except 
David? 

What  other  person  knew  where  it  was? 

838 


THE  WATCH 

I  filled  up  the  hole,  and  returned  to  the  house. 
I  felt  myself  deeply  injured. 

"  Assuming,"  I  thought,  "  that  David  had  need 
of  the  watch  in  order  to  save  his  future  wife  or 
her  father  from  starving  to  death.  .  .  .  Say 
what  you  will,  the  watch  was  worth  something. 
.  .  .  Still,  why  did  not  he  come  to  me  and 
say:  'Brother! '  (in  David's  place  I  would  have 
infallibly  said  brother ) , '  brother !  I  am  in  need  of 
money ;  thou  hast  none,  I  know,  but  permit  me  to 
make  use  of  that  watch  which  we  buried  together 
under  the  old  apple-tree.  It  is  doing  no  one  any 
good,  and  I  shall  be  so  grateful  to  thee,  brother ! ' 
With  what  joy  I  should  have  given  my  consent! 
But  to  act  secretly,  in  a  treacherous  manner,  not 
to  trust  his  friend.  .  .  .  No!  No  passion,  no 
need  could  excuse  that!" 

I  repeat  that  I  was  deeply  wounded.  I  began 
to  display  coldness,  to  sulk.  .  .  . 

But  David  was  not  one  of  those  who  notice  such 
things  and  are  worried  thereby. 

I  began  to  drop  hints.  .  .  . 

But  David  did  not  seem  to  understand  my  hints 
in  the  least. 

I  said  in  his  presence  how  low  in  my  eyes  was 
the  man  who,  having  a  friend  and  understanding 
the  full  significance  of  that  sacred  sentiment, 
friendship,  did  not  possess,  nevertheless,  sufficient 
magnanimity  to  avoid  having  recourse  to  cun- 
ning ;  as  though  anything  could  be  concealed ! 

339 


THE  WATCH 

As  I  uttered  these  last  words  I  laughed  scorn- 
fully. 

But  David  never  turned  a  hair! 

At  last  I  asked  him  outright,  whether  he  sup- 
posed our  watch  had  continued  to  go  for  a  while 
after  it  was  buried  in  the  earth,  or  had  stopped 
immediately. 

He  answered  me—"  The  deuce  knows!  Well, 
thou  hast  found  a  fine  thing  to  meditate  about ! " 

I  did  not  know  what  to  think.  David,  evi- 
dently, had  something  on  his  heart  ....  only  it 
was  not  the  theft  of  the  watch.  An  unforeseen 
incident  demonstrated  to  me  his  innocence. 

XVI 

One  day  I  was  returning  home  through  a  cross- 
alley  which  I  generally  avoided  using,  because 
in  it  there  was  a  detached  house  where  my  enemy 
Trankvillitatin  lodged ;  but  on  this  occasion  Fate 
led  me  thither.  As  I  was  passing  under  the 
closed  window  of  a  drinking-establishment  I 
suddenly  heard  the  voice  of  our  servant  Vasily,  a 
free  and  easy  young  fellow,  a  great  "  dawdler 
and  idler  "  as  my  father  expressed  it, — but  also  a 
great  conqueror  of  feminine  hearts,  on  which  he 
acted  by  means  of  witty  remarks,  dancing  and 
playing  on  the  torban.^ 

"  And  what  do  you  think  they  hit  upon? "  said 

1  A  sort  of  bagpipes.— Trakslatoe. 

840 


THE  WATCH 

Vasily,  whom  I  could  not  see,  although  I  could 
hear  him  very  distinctly ;  he  was  probably  sitting 
just  there,  close  to  the  window,  with  a  comrade, 
over  a  cup  of  tea,  and,  as  often  happens  with  peo- 
ple in  a  closed  room,  was  talking  loudly,  without 
a  suspicion  that  anj^  passer-by  in  the  street  could 
hear  every  word: — "  What  do  you  think  they  hit 
upon?    They  buried  it  in  the  earth! " 

"  Thou  liest! " — growled  another  voice. 

"  They  did,  I  tell  thee.  We  have  such  ray- 
markible  young  gentlemen  at  our  house.  That 
David  in  particular  .  .  .  .  he  's  a  regular  ^sop. 
I  get  up  just  at  break  of  day,  and  step  to  the  win- 
dow, so  ...  I  look  out — and  what  do  I  see?  .  .  . 
Our  two  nice  little  dears  are  walking  in  the  gar- 
den carrying  that  same  watch,  and  they  dug  a 
hole  under  the  apple-tree — and  in  they  put  it,  just 
as  though  it  had  been  a  baby!  And  then  they 
smoothed  over  the  earth,  by  heaven,  those  good- 
for-nothings! " 

"Akh,  the  deuce  take  them!"— said  Vasily's 
companion. — "Too  much  good  living,  of  course. 
Well,  and  what  then?  Didst  thou  dig  up  the 
watch?" 

"  Certainly  I  did.  I  have  it  now.  Only  I  can't 
display  it  at  present.  There  was  altogether  too 
much  of  a  row  over  it.  That  David  pulled  it  out 
from  under  the  spine  of  our  old  woman  that  very 
night." 

"O-Oh!" 

341 


THE  WATCH 

"He  did,  I  tell  thee.  Quite  unpardonable. 
And  so  I  can't  show  it.  But  wait  until  some  offi- 
cers come :  I  '11  sell  it  to  some  one,  or  gamble  it 
away  at  cards." 

I  listened  no  longer,  but  rushed  headlong  home 
and  straight  to  David. 

"Brother!"  I  began,— "  brother!  Forgive 
me !  I  have  been  guilty  toward  thee !  I  have  sus- 
pected thee!  I  have  accused  thee!  Thou  seest 
how  excited  I  am!    Forgive  me! " 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  thee? "  asked  David. 
—"Explain  thyself." 

"  I  suspected  thee  of  having  dug  up  our  watch 
from  under  the  apple-tree! " 

"  That  watch  again !    Why,  is  n't  it  there? " 

"  No,  it  is  not ;  I  thought  that  thou  hadst  taken 
it,  in  order  to  aid  thy  friends.  And  it  w^as  all  that 
Vasily!" 

I  told  David  all  I  had  heard  under  the  window 
of  the  dram-shop. 

But  how  shall  I  describe  my  amazement?  I 
had  assumed,  as  a  matter  of  course,  that  David 
would  be  indignant ;  but  I  could  not  possibly  have 
foreseen  what  would  happen  to  him!  Barely  had 
I  finished  my  tale  when  he  flew  into  an  indescrib- 
able rage!  David,  who  had  never  borne  himself 
otherwise  than  with  scorn  toward  this  whole 
"  petty"  caper  with  the  watch,  as  he  termed  it, — 
that  same  David  who  had  more  than  once  declared 
that  it  was  not  worth  an  empty  egg-shell,— sud- 

342 


THE  WATCH 

denly  sprang  from  his  seat,  flushed  crimson  all 
over,  set  his  teeth  and  clenched  his  fists. 

"Things  cannot  be  left  in  this  state!"  he  said 
at  last.— "How  dares  he  appropriate  other  peo- 
ple's property  ?  Just  wait,  I  '11  teach  him  a  les- 
son !    I  won't  connive  at  thievery ! " 

I  must  confess  that  to  this  day  I  do  not  under- 
stand what  could  have  so  enraged  David ;  whether 
it  was  that  he  was  already  irritated  and  Vasily's 
behaviour  merely  poured  oil  on  the  fire,  or  whe- 
ther my  suspicions  had  wounded  him,  I  cannot 
say;  but  I  had  never  seen  him  so  excited.  With 
gaping  mouth  I  stood  before  him,  and  simply 
wondered  how  he  could  breathe  so  heavily  and 
forcibly. 

"What  dost  thou  intend  to  do?"  I  asked  at 
last. 

"  Thou  shalt  see— after  dinner,  when  thy  fa- 
ther lies  down  for  his  nap.  I  '11  hunt  up  that  wag ! 
I  '11  have  a  little  talk  with  him! " 

"  WeU,"  I  thought  to  myself,  "  I  would  n't  like 
to  be  in  that  '  wag's '  place !  What  wiU  come  of 
this,  O  Lord,  my  God?" 

XVII 

This  is  what  came  of  it. 

Just  as  soon  after  dinner  as  there  reigned  that 
slumberous  suffocating  tranquillity  which  to  this 
day  is  spread  like  a  hot  bed  of  down  over  the  Rus- 

343 


THE  WATCH 

sian  house  and  the  Russian  people  in  the  middle 
of  the  day  after  savoury  viands  have  been  par- 
taken of,  David  (I  followed  on  his  heels  with  a 
sinking  heart)  —David  wended  his  way  to  the 
servants'  hall  and  called  Vasily  out.  At  first  the 
latter  was  unwilling  to  come,  but  ended  by  obey- 
ing and  following  him  into  the  little  garden. 

David  stood  before  him,  almost  touching  his 
breast.    Vasily  was  a  whole  head  taller  than  he. 

"Vasily  Terentieff!"  began  my  comrade  in  a 
firm  voice,  "  six  weeks  ago  thou  didst  dig  up  from 
under  this  apple-tree  the  watch  which  we  had  con- 
cealed there.  Thou  hadst  no  right  to  do  that ;  the 
watch  did  not  belong  to  thee.  Give  it  here  this 
very  minute!" 

Vasily  came  near  losing  countenance,  but  im- 
mediately recovered  himself.  "What  watch? 
What  are  you  talking  about?  I  don't  know  any- 
thing about  it !    I  have  n't  any  watch  at  all ! " 

"  I  know  what  I  am  saying,  and  don't  lie,  thou. 
Thou  hast  the  watch.    Hand  it  over!  " 

"  I  have  n't  got  your  watch." 

"  Then  why  didst  thou  say  in  the  public- 
house  ..."  I  began ;  but  David  stopped  me. 

"  Vasily  Terentieff ,"— he  articulated  in  a  dull 
and  threatening  voice, — "we  are  authentically 
informed  that  thou  hast  the  watch.  I  tell  thee,  as 
a  favour,  to  hand  it  over. — And  if  thou  dost 
not  .  .  .  ," 

Vasily  grinned  insolently. 

344 


THE  WATCH 

"And  what  will  you  do  to  me  then?  Come, 
sir!" 

"What?— Both  of  us  will  fight  with  thee  until 
thou  conquerest  us  or  we  conquer  thee." 

Vasfly  burst  out  laughing. 

"Fight? — That's  no  business  for  young  gen- 
tlemen!   Fight  with  a  serf? " 

David  suddenly  seized  Vasily  by  the  waistcoat. 

"  But  we  are  n't  going  to  fight  thee  with  our 
fists,"  he  ejaculated, gnashing  his  teeth,— "under- 
stand that !  But  I  will  give  thee  a  knife  and  will 
take  one  myself  ....  Well,  and  then  we  '11  see 
who's  who!  Alexyei!"— he  said  to  me  imperi- 
ously,—"run  for  my  big  knife;  thou  knowest 
which— the  one  with  the  bone  haft;  it  is  lying 
yonder  on  the  table;  and  I  have  another  in  my 
pocket." 

Vasfly  suddenly  came  near  falling  in  a  swoon. 
David  still  held  him  fast  by  the  waistcoat. 

"Mercy  ....  have  mercy,  David  Egoritch ! " 
— he  stammered;  tears  even  started  to  his  eyes. 
"What  are  you  doing?  What  are  you  doing? 
Let  me  go!" 

"  I  won't  let  thee  go.— And  I  won't  spare  thee! 
If  thou  eludest  us  to-day  we  will  begin  again  to- 
morrow.—Alyosha!  where 's  that  knife?" 

"David  Egoritch!"  roared  Vasfly,  "do  not 
commit  murder.  .  .  .  Who  ever  saw  the  like  of 
this?  And  the  watch  ....  I  really  did  .... 
I  was  joking.    I  '11  fetch  it  to  you  this  very  min- 

345 


THE  WATCH 

ute.  How  can  you  go  on  like  that?  First  you 
threaten  to  rip  up  Khrisanf  a  Lukiteh's  belly,  and 
now  you  threaten  me!— Let  me  go,  David  Ego- 
ritch.  .  .  .  Please  to  receive  your  watch.  Only 
don't  tell  your  papa." 

David  released  Vasily's  waistcoat.  I  looked 
into  his  face;  really,  it  was  enough  to  scare  a 
bolder  person  than  Vasily.  It  was  so  dismal  .  .  . 
and  cold  .  .  .  and  malignant.  ... 

Vasily  darted  into  the  house  and  immediately 
returned  thence  with  the  watch  in  his  hand. — Si- 
lently he  handed  it  to  David,  and  only  as  he  was 
on  his  way  back  to  the  house  did  he  exclaim  aloud 
on  the  threshold :  "  Phew,  here 's  a  pretty  go! " 

His  face  was  still  distorted  beyond  recognition. 
David  nodded  his  head  and  went  off  to  our  room. 
Again  I  trudged  after  him. 

"SuvorofF!  A  regular  SuvorofF!"  I  thought 
to  myself. — At  that  time,  in  1801,  SuvorofF  was 
our  leading  popular  hero. 


XVIII 

David  locked  the  door  behind  him,  laid  the  watch 
on  the  table,  folded  his  arms  and — oh,  marvellous 
to  relate!— burst  out  laughing. — As  I  looked  at 
him  I  began  to  laugh  also. 

"What  an  astounding  dodger!"  he  began. — 
"  We  cannot  possibly  rid  ourselves  of  this  watch. 

346 


THE  WATCH 

It  is  bewitched,  it  really  is.  And  what  made  me 
go  into  a  rage  so  all  of  a  sudden? " 

"Yes,  what?"  I  repeated.— "Thou  mightest 
have  left  it  with  Vasily  .  .  .  ." 

"Well,  no,"  interrupted  David.— "  That's  all 
fiddlesticks!    But  what  shall  we  do  with  it  now? " 

"Yes!    What?" 

We  both  riveted  our  eyes  on  the  watch,  and  fell 
to  thinking.  Adorned  with  a  string  of  sky-blue 
glass  beads  ( the  ill-starred  Vasily  in  his  headlong 
haste  had  not  had  time  to  detach  this  string,  which 
belonged  to  him ) ,  it  was  very  quietly  performing 
its  functions;  it  ticked  somewhat  unevenly,  it  is 
true,  and  moved  its  brass  minute-hand  slowly. 

"  Shall  we  bury  it  again?  Or  fling  it  into  the 
stove? "  I  suggested  at  last. — "  Or,  see  here, — why 
not  make  a  present  of  it  to  Latkin? " 

"  No,"  replied  David.—"  That  won't  do  at  all. 
But  here's  an  idea:  a  commission  has  been  insti- 
tuted in  the  Governor's  chancellery  to  receive  sub- 
scriptions for  the  benefit  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Kasimoff  who  have  been  burned  out  of  house  and 
home.  They  say  that  the  town  of  KasimofF  has 
been  reduced  to  ashes,  with  all  its  churches.  And 
they  say  that  everything  is  accepted;  not  alone 
bread  and  money,  but  articles  of  every  descrip- 
tion.—Let  's  give  the  watch  to  them!    Hey? " 

"  We  will!  We  will! "  I  interposed.-"  That 's 
a  fine  idea !  But  I  assumed  that  as  the  family  of 
thy  friends  is  in  need  .  .  .  ." 

347 


THE  WATCH 

"No,  no;  give  it  to  the  commission!— The 
Latkins  will  get  along  without  it. — To  the  com- 
mission with  it!" 

"  Well,  if  it  must  be  the  commission,  it  must. — 
Only  I  suppose  that  we  must  write  something  to 
the  Governor  to  go  with  it." 

David  looked  at  me.    "  Dost  think  so? " 

"  Yes ;  of  course  it  is  not  necessary  to  write 
much.    But  so — only  a  few  words." 

"  For  example?" 

"For  example  ....  we  might  begin  thus: 
'  Being  '  ...  or,  better  still,  'Actuated  '...." 

"  '  Actuated '  is  good.  .  .  ." 

"  Then  we  must  say :  '  The  which  small  mite  of 
ours  '...." 

"'Mite'  ....  is  good  also;  well,  take  thy 
pen,  sit  down,  write,  go  ahead! " 

"  I  will  first  make  a  rough  draft,"  I  remarked. 

"Well,  do  so;  only  write,  write  ....  And 
in  the  meantime  I  will  polish  it  up  with  some 
chalk." 

I  took  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  mended  my  pen; 
but  before  I  had  had  time  to  set  at  the  top  of  the 
page:  "To  His  Excellency,  Mr.  Radiant  Prince" 
(our  Governor  at  that  time  was  Prince  X.),  I 
stopped  short,  astounded  by  an  unusual  noise 
which  had  suddenly  arisen  in  our  house.  David 
also  noticed  the  noise  and  also  stopped  short,  with 
the  watch  held  aloft  in  his  left  hand,  and  the  rag 
smeared  with  chalk  in  his  right.  We  exchanged 
glances.    What  was  that  pieroinr^  shriek?    That 

348 


THE  WATCH 

was  aunty  squealing.  .  .  .  And  what  was  this? 
—  It  was  the  voice  of  my  father,  hoarse  with  rage. 

"The  watch!  The  watch!"  roared  some  one, 
probably  Trankvillitatin. 

Feet  trampled,  soles  squeaked,  the  whole  horde 
was  running  .  .  .  making  straight  for  us.  I  was 
swooning  with  terror ;  and  David  was  as  white  as 
clay,  but  with  the  look  of  an  eagle. 

"  That  villain  Vasily  has  betrayed  us,"  he  whis- 
pered through  his  teeth.  .  .  . 

The  door  was  flung  wide  open,  and  my  father 
in  his  dressing-gown,  and  without  a  necktie,  and 
my  aunt  in  her  dressing-sack,  Trankvillitatin, 
Vasfly,  Yiishka,  another  small  boy,  and  the  cook 
Agapit,  all  invaded  the  room. 

"  Scoundrels!  "  yelled  my  father,  barely  able  to 
draw  his  breath  .  ..."  at  last  we  have  caught 
you! " — And  espying  the  watch  in  David's  hands: 
— "  Hand  it  over! " — roared  my  father. — "  Hand 
over  that  watch!" 

But  David,  without  uttering  a  word,  darted  to 
the  open  window,  sprang  through  it  into  the  yard, 
and  then  made  for  the  street ! 

Accustomed  to  imitate  my  model  in  all  things, 
I  also  jumped  out,  and  rushed  after  David.  .  .  . 

"  Catch  them!  Hold  them! "  thundered  a  wild 
chorus  of  voices  behind  us. 

But  we  were  already  fleeing  headlong  down  the 
street,  with  no  caps  on  our  heads,  David  in  the 
lead,  I  a  few  paces  behind  him,  and  after  us  came 
the  trampling  and  roar  of  pursuit. 

34>9 


THE  WATCH 

XIX 

Many  years  have  elapsed  since  all  these  events ;  I 
have  thought  of  them  many  a  time— and  to  this 
day  I  cannot  understand  the  cause  of  that  rage 
with  which  my  father  was  seized,  after  having  so 
recently  forbidden  the  mere  mention  of  that 
watch  of  which  he  was  so  tired,  just  as  I  could  not 
understand  then  the  wrath  of  David  when  he 
learned  of  its  theft  by  Vasily.— But  I  cannot  help 
thinking  that  some  mysterious  force  was  con- 
tained within  it.  Vasily  had  not  betrayed  us,  as 
David  supposed, — he  was  in  no  mood  for  that;  he 
was  too  thoroughly  intimidated;  but  simply,  one 
of  our  maids  had  seen  the  watch  in  his  hands  and 
had  immediately  reported  the  fact  to  my  aunt. 
And  thus  the  spark  had  kindled  a  great  fire. 

So  then,  we  dashed  headlong  down  the  street, 
along  its  very  centre.  The  passers-by  who  met 
us  came  to  a  halt  or  stepped  aside  in  perplexity. 
I  remember  that  one  retired  Second-Major,  a 
famous  breeder  of  greyhounds,  suddenly  thrust 
his  head  out  of  the  window  of  his  lodgings,  and, 
all  red  in  the  face,  with  his  body  hanging  in  the 
balance,  began  to  emit  a  wild  view-halloo ! 

"Stop!  Hold  them!"  continued  to  thunder 
after  us. — David  ran  onward,  swinging  the 
watch  round  his  head,  and  now  and  then  giving  a 
skip ;  I  skipped  also,  and  at  the  same  places  as  he. 

"  Whither  away? "  I  shout  to  David,  perceiving 

850 


THE  WATCH 

that  he  is  turning  from  the  street  into  an  alley, 
and  making  the  turn  with  him. 

"To  the  Oka!"— he  shouts  back.— "Into  the 
water,  into  the  river,  to  the  devil  with  it! " 

"  Halt!    Halt! "  roar  the  people  behind  us.  .  .  . 

But  we  are  already  flying  through  the  alley. 
And  now  a  chill  breath  wafts  to  meet  us,  and 
the  river  is  before  us,  and  the  steep,  muddy 
descent,  and  the  wooden  bridge  with  a  train  of 
wagons  extending  across  it,  and  the  soldier  with 
his  pike  by  the  barrier — soldiers  carried  pikes  in 
those  days  ....  David  is  already  on  the  bridge, 
he  dashes  past  the  soldier,  who  tries  to  prod  him 
in  the  leg  with  his  pike, — and  colhdes  with  a  pass- 
ing calf. — David  instantly  leaps  upon  the  railing, 
— he  emits  a  joyful  exclamation.  .  .  .  Some- 
thing white,  something  blue  has  glittered,  has 
flashed  through  the  air— it  is  the  silver  watch  with 
Vasily's  chain  flying  into  the  water.  .  .  .  But  at 
this  point  something  incredible  occurs!  David's 
legs  whirl  upward  in  pursuit  of  the  watch  and  he 
himself,  head  down,  hands  in  front  of  him,  jacket- 
tails  fluttering  in  the  air,  describes  a  sharp  curve 
— frightened  frogs  leap  thus  on  a  hot  day  from 
the  lofty  shore  into  the  waters  of  a  pond— and 
instantly  disappears  beyond  the  railing  of  the 
bridge  ....  and  then— flop!  and  a  heavy  splash 
below.  .  .  . 

What  my  sensations  were  it  is  utterly  beyond 
my  power  to  describe.    I  was  a  few  paces  distant 

351 


THE  WATCH 

from  David  when  he  sprang  from  the  raihng  .... 
but  I  do  not  even  recollect  whether  I  screamed ;  I 
do  not  think  I  was  even  frightened :  I  was  struck 
dumb  and  dizzy.  My  arms  and  legs  lost  their 
power.  Around  me  people  were  jostling  and 
running;  some  of  them  seemed  familiar  to  me; 
Trofimitch  suddenly  flitted  past,  the  soldier  with 
the  pike  darted  off  somewhere  to  one  side,  the 
horses  of  the  wagon-train  walked  hurriedly  past, 
tossing  on  high  their  muzzles,  which  were  bound 
together.  .  .  .  Then  there  was  a  ringing  in  my 
ears,  and  some  one  gave  me  a  smart  blow  in  the 
nape  of  the  neck  and  along  the  whole  length  of 
my  spine.  ...  I  had  fallen  down  in  a  swoon. 

I  remember  that  I  rose  to  my  feet  afterward, 
and,  perceiving  that  no  one  was  paying  any  heed 
to  me,  I  approached  the  railing,  not  on  the 
side  from  which  David  had  jumped  (it  seemed  to 
me  a  dreadful  thing  to  approach  that  one)  — but 
the  other,  and  began  to  stare  at  the  river,  turbu- 
lent, blue,  and  swollen;  I  remember  that  not  far 
from  the  bridge,  on  the  shore,  I  noticed  a  boat 
moored,  and  in  the  boat  several  men,  and  one  of 
them,  all  wet  and  glistening  in  the  sun,  bending 
over  the  edge  of  the  boat,  was  dragging  something 
from  the  water — something  not  very  big,  some 
long,  dark  thing  which  at  first  I  took  for  a  trunk 
or  a  basket;  but  on  looking  more  intently  I  saw 
that  that  thing  was— David!  Then  I  gave  a  great 
start,  began  to  shout  at  the  top  of  my  voice,  and 

352 


THE  WATCH 

ran  to  the  boat,  pushing  my  way  through  the 
crowd;  and  having  reached  it,  I  became  daunted 
and  began  to  look  about  me.  Among  the  people 
who  surrounded  it  I  recognised  TrankvilMtatin, 
our  cook  Agapit  with  a  boot  on  his  arm,  Yiishka 
and  Vasily.  .  .  .  The  wet,  glistening  man  had 
pulled  from  under  the  boat  by  his  armpits  the 
body  of  David,  whose  hands  were  raised  on  a  level 
with  his  face,  as  though  he  were  desirous  of  hid- 
ing it  from  the  eyes  of  strangers,  and  had  laid 
him  on  his  back  upon  the  muddy  shore.  David 
did  not  stir;  he  seemed  to  have  stretched  himself 
out,  drawn  in  his  heels,  and  thrust  out  his  belly. 
His  face  was  of  a  greenish  hue,  his  eyes  were 
rolled  up,  and  the  water  was  dripping  from  his 
hair.  The  wet  man  who  had  pulled  him  out,  a 
factory-hand,  judging  from  his  attire,  began  to 
narrate,  shivering  with  cold  the  while  and  inces- 
santly pushing  the  hair  back  from  his  brow,  how 
he  had  done  it.  He  narrated  very  decorously  and 
carefully. 

"  What  do  I  see,  gentlemen?  This  young  fel- 
low diving  from  the  bridge.  .  .  .  Well!  .  .  .  . 
I  immediately  run  down-stream,  for  I  know  that 
he  has  fallen  straight  into  the  current,  which  will 
carry  him  under  the  bridge— well,  and  then  .... 
that  would  be  the  last  of  him !  I  look :  something 
resembling  a  shaggy  cap  is  floating,  but  it  was 
his  head.  Well,  and  so  I  immediately  dashed 
into  the  water  in  a  lively  manner.     I  clutched 

353 


THE  WATCH 

him.  .  .  .  Well,  and  there  was  no  great  art  in 
that!" 

Two  or  three  words  of  approbation  made  them- 
selves audible  among  the  crowd. 

"We  must  warm  thee  up  now.  Come  along, 
let 's  sip  a  cup  of  liquor,"  remarked  some  one. 

But  here  some  one  suddenly  made  his  way  con- 
vulsively to  the  front.  ...  It  was  Vasily. 

"  What  are  ye  about,  ye  Orthodox? " — he  cried 
tearfully.— "We  must  roll  him.  This  is  our 
young  gentleman!" 

"Roll  him,  roll  him!"  resounded  through  the 
crowd,  which  was  constantly  increasing. 

"Hang  him  up  by  his  feet!  That's  the  best 
remedy!" 

"Put  him  belly  down  over  a  barrel,  and  roll 
him  back  and  forth,  until  ....  Take  him  up, 
my  lads ! " 

"Don't  you  dare  to  touch  himi"— interposed 
the  soldier  with  the  pike. — "  He  must  be  taken  to 
the  guard-house." 

"Rabble!" — Trofimitch's  bass  voice  was 
wafted  from  somewhere  or  other. 

"Why,  he  is  alive!"  I  suddenly  cry  at  the  top 
of  my  lungs,  almost  in  aiFright.  I  had  been  on 
the  point  of  putting  my  face  against  his  face.  .  .  . 
"  So  that  is  what  drowned  people  are  like,"  I  was 
thinking  to  myself,  as  my  heart  died  within  me 
....  when  suddenly  I  saw  David's  lips  trem- 
ble, and  a  little  water  flow  from  them.  .  .  . 

354 


THE  WATCH 

I  was  instantly  thrust  aside,  dragged  away ;  all 
darted  toward  him. 

"  Roll  him,  roll  him!  "—voices  began  to  be  up- 
lifted. 

"No,  no,  stop!"  shouted  Vasily.— "  Take  him 
home  .  .  .  home!" 

"  Take  him  home,"— chimed  in  Trankvillitatin 
himself. 

"  We  '11  hurry  him  thither  in  a  j  iffy— we  shall 
be  able  to  see  better  there,"  went  on  Vasily.  .  .  . 
(I  took  a  great  liking  to  Vasily,  beginning  with 
that  day.) —"Brothers!  Isn't  there  a  bast-mat 
handy?  If  not,  lift  him  by  his  head  and  his 
heels.  ..." 

"Stay!  Here's  a  bast-mat!  Lay  him  on  it! 
Catch  hold !  March !  Slowly :  as  though  he  were 
riding  in  a  coach  of  state ! " 

And  a  few  moments  later  David,  borne  on  the 
bast-mat,  triumphantly  made  his  entrance  under 
our  roof. 


XX 

They  undressed  him  and  placed  him  on  the  bed. 
Already  in  the  street  he  had  begun  to  show  signs 
of  life,  he  had  bellowed  and  waved  his  hands.  .  .  . 
In  the  room  he  recovered  his  senses  completely. 
But  as  soon  as  fears  for  his  life  were  past,  and 
there  was  no  necessity  for  fussing  over  him,  wrath 

355 


THE  WATCH 

asserted  its  rights:  all  retreated  from  him  as 
though  he  had  been  a  leper. 

"May  God  punish  him!  May  God  punish 
him!"— squealed  my  aunt  so  that  she  could  be 
heard  all  over  the  house.—"  Send  him  off  some- 
where, Porfiry  Petrovitch,  or  he  will  perpetrate 
some  other  crime  which  cannot  be  endured!" 

"  I  think  this  must  be  some  sort  of  an  asp,  and 
a  mad  one  at  that,"— chimed  in  Trankvillitatin. 

"What  malice,  what  malice!"— shrilled  my 
aunt,  coming  to  the  very  door  of  our  room  so  as 
to  make  sure  that  David  heard  her.  "  First  he 
stole  the  watch,  and  then  he  flung  it  into  the  water. 
. .  .  As  much  as  to  say, '  Nobody  shall  have  it.'  .  .  . 
So  he  did!" 

Everybody,  positively  everybody,  was  angry! 

"  David,"  I  asked  him  as  soon  as  we  were  left 
alone,  "  why  didst  thou  do  that? " 

"  There  thou  goest  too,"— he  retorted,  still  in 
a  very  weak  voice;  his  lips  were  blue,  and  he 
seemed  bloated  all  over.— "What  have  I  done?" 

"  But  why  didst  thou  leap  into  the  water? " 

"Why  did  I  leap?— I  couldn't  keep  my  bal- 
ance on  the  railing,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it. 
If  I  had  known  how  to  swim  I  would  have  leaped 
deliberately.  I  shall  certainly  learn.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  that  watch  is  now  done  for!  .  .  ." 

At  this  point  my  father  entered  our  room  with 
solemn  tread. 

"  I  shall  flog  thee,  without  fail,  my  dear  fel- 

356 


THE  WATCH 

low,"  he  said,  addressing  me;  "have  no  doubt  as 
to  that,  although  thou  art  too  old  to  lay  across  a 
bench  any  longer."— Then  he  stepped  up  to  the 
bed  on  which  David  was  lying.—"  In  Siberia,"— 
he  began  in  a  pompous  and  impressive  tone, — "  in 
Siberia,  my  good  sir,  in  penal  servitude,  men  live 
and  die  underground  who  are  less  guilty,  less 
criminally  guilty  than  thou  I  Art  thou  a  suicide, 
or  simply  a  fool?— Tell  me  that  one  thing,  pray! " 

"  I  am  not  a  suicide  nor  a  thief,"  replied  David, 
"  but  the  truth  is  the  truth :  good  people  get  sent 

to  Siberia,  better  men  than  you  and  I 

Who  should  know  that  if  not  you? " 

My  father  uttered  a  low  cry,  retreated  a  pace, 
stared  intently  at  David,  spat,  and  slowly  cross- 
ing himself,  left  the  room. 

"Dost  thou  not  like  it?"  David  called  after 
him,  thnisting  out  his  tongue.  Then  he  tried  to 
rise,  but  could  not.—"  Evidently,  I  have  injured 
myself  somehow,"  he  said,  groaning  and  wrin- 
kling up  his  forehead.—"  I  remember  that  I  was 
dashed  against  a  beam  by  the  water.  .  .  . 

"  Didst  thou  see  Raisa? "  he  suddenly  added. 

"No,  I  did  not  see  her.  .  .  .  Wait!  Wait! 
Wait!  Now  I  remember:  was  n't  it  she  who  was 
standing  on  the  shore  near  the  bridge?— Yes.  .  .  . 
A  dark  frock,  a  yellow  kerchief  on  her  head.  .  .  . 
It  must  have  been  she! " 

"Well,  and  afterward  ....  didst  thou  see 
her  afterward?" 

357 


THE  WATCH 

"Afterward  ....  I  don't  know.  I  was  in 
no  mood  for  observing.— Thou  didst  leap  at  that 
moment.  .  .  ." 

David  started  up  in  alarm. 

"  My  dear  friend  Alyosha,  go  to  her  this  mo- 
ment, tell  her  that  I  am  well,  that  there  is  nothing 
the  matter  with  me.  I  shall  go  to  see  them  to- 
morrow. Go  quickly,  brother,  do  me  that  fa- 
vour ! 

David  stretched  out  both  hands  to  me.  .  .  . 
His  dry,  red  hair  stuck  up  in  funny  whorls  .  .  . 
but  the  deeply-moved  expression  of  his  face 
seemed  all  the  more  genuine  for  that.  I  took  my 
cap  and  left  the  house,  endeavouring  not  to  fall 
under  the  eye  of  my  father  and  not  to  remind  him 
of  his  promise. 

XXI 

"  And,  in  fact,"  I  argued  with  myself  on  my  way 
to  the  Latkins',  "  how  was  it  that  I  did  not  notice 
Raisa?  What  has  become  of  her?  For  she  must 
have  seen  .  .  .  ." 

And  suddenly  I  remembered:  at  the  very  mo- 
ment of  David's  fall  a  terrible,  heart-rending  cry 
had  rung  in  my  ears.  .  .  . 

Was  not  that  she  ?  But  how  was  it  that  I  had 
not  seen  her  afterward  ? 

In  front  of  the  tiny  house  in  which  Latkin 
dwelt  stretched  a  strip  of  waste  land  overgrown 

358 


THE  WATCH 

with  nettles  and  enclosed  with  a  decrepit  fence  of 
wattled  boughs.  Hardly  had  I  made  my  way 
across  this  fence  (there  was  no  gate  or  wicket  any- 
where), than  the  following  spectacle  presented 
itself  to  my  eyes. — On  the  lowest  step  of  the  porch 
in  front  of  the  house  Raisa  was  sitting  with  her 
elbows  on  her  knees  and  her  chin  propped  on  her 
interlaced  fingers;  she  was  staring  straight  in 
front  of  her ;  by  her  side  stood  her  deaf-and-dumb 
sister  tranquilly  flourishing  a  small  whip,  and  in 
front  of  the  porch,  with  his  back  toward  me,  clad 
in  a  tattered  and  threadbare  dressing-gown,  with 
under-drawers  and  felt  boots  on  his  legs,  stood  old 
Latkin,  dangling  his  arms  and  writhing,  shifting 
from  foot  to  foot  where  he  stood  and  indulging  in 
little  leaps.  At  the  sound  of  my  footsteps  he  sud- 
denly wheeled  round,  squatted  down  on  his  heels, 
and  immediately  swooping  down  upon  me,  began 
to  say  in  an  extremely  rapid,  tremulous  voice, 
interlarded  with  breaks:  "  Tchu-tchu-tchu ! "  I 
stood  riveted  to  the  spot.  I  had  not  seen  him  for  a 
long  time,  and,  of  course,  I  would  not  have  recog- 
nised him  had  I  met  him  in  any  other  place.  That 
red,  wrinkled,  toothless  face,  those  round,  dull 
little  eyes  and  dishevelled  grey  locks,  those  twitch- 
ings,  those  leaps,  that  unintelligible,  faltering 
tongue  ....  what  was  it?  What  inhuman  de- 
spair was  torturing  that  unlucky  being?  What 
"dance  of  death"  was  this? 

"  Tchu,  tchu,"  he  stammered,  without  ceasing 

859 


THE  WATCH 

to  grimace, — "there  she  is,  Vasilievna;  she  has 
just— tchu,  tehu — gone  ....  hark!  with  a  wash- 
ing-trough along  the  roof"  (he  banged  his  head 
with  his  hand) ,  "  and  is  sitting  there  Hke  a  shovel; 
and  squinting,  squinting  like  Andriusha;  cross- 
eyed Vasilievna!"  (He  probably  wanted  to  say 
"dumb.")  "Tchu!  my  cross-eyed  Vasilievna! 
There  they  are,  both  of  them,  now  in  the  same  fix. 
.  .  .  Admire,  ye  Orthodox!  I  have  only  those 
two  little  boats!    Hey?" 

Latkin  was  evidently  conscious  that  he  was  not 
talking  straight,  and  was  making  frantic  efforts 
to  explain  to  me  what  was  the  matter.  Raisa  ap- 
parently did  not  hear  what  her  father  was  saying 
at  all,  while  her  little  sister  continued  to  slash  the 
air  with  her  whip. 

"Good-bye,  jeweller,  good-bye,  good-bye!" 
drawled  Latkin  several  times  in  succession,  with 
low  obeisances,  as  though  delighted  that  he  had, 
at  last,  caught  hold  of  an  intelligible  word. 

My  head  reeled. — "What  is  the  meaning  of 
all  this?  "  I  asked  an  old  woman  who  was  peeping 
out  of  one  of  the  windows  in  the  house. 

"  Why,  you  see,  dear  little  father,"  she  replied 
in  a  sing-song  tone,  "  they  say  that  some  man  or 
other— and  who  he  is,  the  Lord  only  knows— has 
been  drowned,  and  she  saw  it.  Well,  and  she  got 
thoroughly  scared,  I  suppose ;  but  she  came  home 
all  right.  But  she  sat  straight  down  on  the  porch, 
and  since  that  minute  there  she  sits,  like  a  statue; 

360 


THE  WATCH 

it  makes  no  difference  whether  one  speaks  to  her 
or  not.  Evidently,  she  is  doomed  to  dumbness 
also.    Axhti-kti!" 

"  Good-bye,  good-bye,"  Latkin  kept  repeat- 
ing, still  with  obeisances  as  before.  I  stepped 
up  to  Raisa  and  halted  directly  in  front  of 
her. 

" Raisotchka,"  I  shouted,  "what's  the  matter 
with  thee?" 

She  made  no  reply;  just  as  though  she  did  not 
see  me.  Her  face  had  not  paled  or  changed,  but 
somehow  had  become  stony,  and  it  wore  an  ex- 
pression as  though  she  w^re  on  the  very  verge  of 
falling  asleep. 

"  But  she 's  cross-eyed,  cross-eyed,"  stammered 
Latkin  in  my  ear. 

I  grasped  Raisa's  hand.— "David  is  alive,"  I 
shouted  more  loudly  than  before:  "  ahve  and  well. 
David  is  alive,  dost  thou  understand?  They 
pulled  him  out  of  the  water,  he  is  now  at  home  and 
has  bid  me  say  that  he  will  come  to  see  thee  to- 
morrow. .  .  .  He  is  alive!" 

Raisa  turned  her  eyes  on  me  with  apparent  diffi- 
culty ;  she  w  inked  the  lids  a  couple  of  times,  open- 
ing them  wider  and  wider,  then  bent  her  head  on 
one  side,  gradually  flushed  crimson  all  over,  and 
her  lips  parted.  .  .  .  She  inhaled  the  air  into  her 
lungs  with  a  slow,  full  breath,  wrinkled  her  brow 
as  though  in  pain,  and  with  a  terrible  eff'ort  articu- 
lating: "Yes  ....  Dav  .  .  .  ali  .  .  .  .  alive!" 

361 


THE  WATCH 

rose  abruptly  from  the  porch  and  set  off  at  a 
run.  .  .  . 

"Where  art  thou  going?"  I  cried. 

But,  laughing  faintly  and  reeling,  she  was  al- 
ready running  across  the  waste  land. 

Of  course  I  darted  after  her,  while  behind  me 
rose  an  energetic  howl,  decrepit  and  childish,  from 
Latkin  and  the  deaf-and-dumb  girl.  .  .  .  Raisa 
was  making  straight  for  our  house. 

"  Well,  what  a  day  this  has  been! "  I  thought, 
as  I  strove  not  to  lag  behind  the  black  gown  which 
was  flitting  on  in  front  of  me.  ..."  Come  on! " 

XXII 

Evading  Vasily,  my  aunt,  and  even  Trankvilli- 
tatin,  Raisa  rushed  into  the  room  where  David 
lay,  and  flung  herself  straight  upon  his  breast.— 
"  Okh  ....  okh,  Davidushko!"  her  voice  rang 
out  from  under  her  dishevelled  curls; — "  okh! " 

Energetically  waving  her  hands,  she  embraced 
David  and  bent  her  head  down  to  him. 

"  Forgive  me,  my  dear,"  his  voice  made  itself 
audible. 

And  both  seemed  fairly  swooning  with  joy. 

"But  why  didst  thou  go  off  home,  Raisa? 
Why  didst  not  thou  wait?"  I  said  to  her.  .  .  . 
Still  she  did  not  raise  her  head.—"  Thou  wouldst 
have  seen  that  they  had  saved  him.  .  .  ." 

"Akh,  I  don't  know!     Akh,  I  don't  know! 

362 


THE  WATCH 

Don't  ask  me!  I  don't  know,  I  don't  remember 
how  I  got  home.  All  I  do  remember  is  that  I  saw 
thee  in  the  air  ...  .  something  struck  me  .... 
But  what  came  after  that  I  don't  know." 

"  Struck  you,"  repeated  David,  and  all  three  of 
us  suddenly  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh.  We  felt 
very  happy. 

"  But  what  may  be  the  meaning  of  this,  pray? " 
rang  out  a  threatening  voice — the  voice  of  my  fa- 
ther—behind us.  He  was  standing  on  the  thresh- 
old of  the  door.  "  Are  these  follies  coming  to  an 
end  or  not?  Where  are  we  living?  In  the  Rus- 
sian empire  or  in  the  French  republic?" 

He  stalked  into  the  room. 

"  Go  to  France,  any  of  you  who  want  to  revolt 
and  lead  a  licentious  life!  And  as  for  thee,  how 
hast  thou  dared  to  come  hither?"  he  addressed 
himself  to  Raisa,  who,  having  softly  risen  and 
turned  her  face  toward  him,  was  obviously  intimi- 
dated, but  continued  to  smile  in  a  caressing  and 
blissful  way.—"  The  daughter  of  my  sworn  en- 
emy! How  darest  thou?  And  thou  hast  taken  it 
into  thy  head  to  embrace  him  also!  Begone  this 
instant !  or  I  '11  .  .  .  ." 

"  Uncle,"  said  David,  sitting  up  in  bed,  "  do 
not  insult  Raisa.  She  will  go  away  ....  only, 
don't  you  insult  her." 

"And  who  appointed  thee  my  preceptor?  I 
am  not  insulting  her,  I  am  not  insulting  her!  I 
am  simply  turning  her  out  of  the  house.    I  shall 

363 


THE  WATCH 

call  thee  to  account  also.  Thou  hast  squandered 
the  property  of  other  people,  thou  hast  attempted 
thine  own  life,  thou  hast  caused  me  losses." 

"  What  losses? "  interrupted  David. 

"What  losses?  Thou  hast  ruined  thy  clothing 
— dost  thou  count  that  nothing?  And  I  gave 
money  for  liquor  to  the  men  v^^ho  brought  thee 
hither!  Thou  hast  frightened  the  whole  family 
out  of  their  lives,  and  thou  art  insolent  to  boot! 
And  if  this  wench,  forgetful  of  modesty  and  even 
of  honour  ..." 

David  sprang  from  his  bed.— "Don't  insult 
her,  I  tell  you!" 

"Hold  thy  tongue!" 

"Don't  you  dare  .  .  ." 

"Hold  thy  tongue!" 

"  Don't  you  dare  to  defame  my  promised 
bride!"  shouted  David  at  the  top  of  his  voice, — 
"  my  future  wife ! " 

"Bride!"  repeated  my  father,  with  eyes  start- 
ing from  his  head. — "Bride! — Wife!  Ho,  ho, 
ho!  .  .  ."  ("Ha,  ha,  ha!"  echoed  my  aunt  out- 
side the  door.) — "And  how  old  art  thou,  pray? 
He  has  lived  in  this  world  a  year  minus  one 
month,  the  milk  is  n't  dry  on  his  lips  j^et,  the  hob- 
bledehoy! And  he  is  contemplating  matrimony! 
Why,  I  .  .  .  .  why,  thou  .  .  .  ." 

"  Let  me  go,  let  me  go,"  whispered  Raisa,  turn- 
ing to  depart.    She  had  grown  livid. 

"  I  shall  not  ask  any  permission  of  you,"  David 

864 


THE  WATCH 

continued  in  a  shout,  propping  himself  on  the 
edge  of  the  bed  with  his  fists,  "  but  of  my  own 
father,  who  is  bound  to  arrive  any  day  now!  I 
take  my  orders  from  him,  not  from  you;  and  as 
for  my  age,  Raisa  and  I  are  not  in  a  hurry  .... 
we  shall  wait,  say  what  you  like.  .  .  ." 

"Hey  there,  David,  come  to  thy  senses!"  in- 
terrupted my  father;  "look  at  thyself:  thou  art 
all  in  tatters.  .  .  .  Thou  hast  lost  all  sense  of 
decorum!" 

David  clutched  at  the  breast  of  his  shirt  with  his 
hand. 

"  Whatever  you  may  say  .  .  .  ."  he  repeated. 

"  Come,  clap  thy  hand  over  his  mouth,  Porfiry 
Petrovitch,  clap  thy  hand  over  his  mouth," 
squealed  my  aunt  outside  the  door. — "  And  as  for 
this  street-walker,  this  good-for-nothing  wench 

•      «      •     •      LllXo     •      •      •      • 

But  evidently  something  unusual  cut  my  aunt's 
eloquence  short  at  that  moment:  her  voice  sud- 
denly broke,  and  in  place  of  it  another,  a  hoarsely 
decrepit  and  weak  voice,  made  itself  heard.  .  .  . 

"Brother,"  enunciated  this  feeble  voice.  .  .  . 
"Brother!  ....  Christian  soul!" 

XXIII 

We  all  turned  round Before  us,  in  the 

same  costume  in  which  I  had  recently  beheld  him, 
gaunt,  pitiful,  wild,  like  a  spectre,  stood  Latkin. 

365 


THE  WATCH 

"  But  God,"  he  articulated  in  a  childish  sort  of 
way,  elevating  on  high  his  trembling  crooked 
finger  and  scanning  my  father  with  a  feeble  gaze, 
—"God  has  punished!  And  I  have  come  for 
Va  .  .  .  yes,  yes,  for  Raisotchka.  What  is  it, 
tchul  What  is  it  to  me?  I  shall  soon  lie  down  in 
the  earth— and  how  the  deuce  does  it  go?  A  stick 
....  another  ....  a  joist  ....  that 's  what  I 
need  ....  But  do  thou,  brother,  jeweller  .... 
Look  out  ....  for  I  am  also  a  man!" 

Raisa  silently  walked  across  the  room  and  link- 
ing her  arm  in  his,  buttoned  his  dressing-gown. 

"  Come  along,  Vasilievna,"  he  said,  "  they  're 
all  saints  here ;  don't  go  to  their  house.  And  that 
fellow,  the  one  who  is  lying  yonder  in  the  casket," 
— he  pointed  at  David,—"  is  a  saint  also.  But  we 
are  sinners,  thou  and  I.  Well,  tchu  ....  par- 
don a  peppery  old  man,  gentlemen!  We  stole 
together!  "  he  suddenly  shouted: — "  we  stole  to- 
gether! we  stole  together!"  he  repeated  with 
manifest  c' flight;  his  tongue  had  obeyed  him 
at  last. 

All  of  us  who  were  in  the  room  held  our  peace. 

"And  where  is  your  ....  holy  picture?"  he 
asked,  throwing  back  his  head  and  rolling  up  his 
eyes.    "  I  must  purify  myself." 

He  began  to  pray  toward  one  of  the  corners, 
crossing  himself  with  emotion  several  times  in 
succession,  tapping  his  fingers  now  against  one 
shoulder,  now  against  the  other,  and  hurriedly  re- 

366 


THE  WATCH 

peating:  "Have  mercy  upon  me,  O  Lo  .  .  .  . 
me,  O  Lo  .  .  .  .  me,  O  Lo!  .  .  .  ."  My  father, 
who  all  this  time  had  never  taken  his  eyes  from 
Latkin  nor  uttered  a  single  word,  placed  him- 
self beside  him  and  began  to  cross  himself  also. 
Then  he  turned  to  him,  made  a  very  low  obei- 
sance to  him  so  that  he  touched  the  floor  with  one 
hand,^  and  saying:  "And  do  thou  also  forgive 
me,  Martinyan  Gavrilitch,"  he  kissed  him  on 
the  shoulder.  Latkin  in  reply  smacked  his  lips 
in  the  air  and  blinked  his  eyes ;  it  is  hardly  prob- 
able that  he  understood  what  he  was  doing. 
Then  my  father  addressed  himself  to  all  who 

were  present  in  the  room,  to  David,  Raisa,  and 
me: 

"  Do  what  you  will,  act  as  you  see  fit,"  he  said 
in  a  quiet,  sorrowful  voice — and  withdrew. 

My  aunt  tried  to  approach  him,  but  he  yelled 
at  her  sharply  and  gruffly. 

"  Me,  O  Lo  ....  me,  O  Lo  ....  have  mercy  I " 
repeated  Latkin. — "  I  am  a  man! " 

"  Good-bye,  Davidushko,"  said  Raisa,  as  she 
also  quitted  the  room,  accompanied  by  the  old 
man. 

"  I  shall  go  to  your  house  to-morrow,"  David 
called  after  them,  and  turning  his  face  to  the  wall, 
he  whispered:  "I  am  very  tired;  it  wouldn't  be 

^  This  takes  the  place  of  a  full  prostration  on  the  knees  with  the 
brow  touching  the  floor  for  elderly  or  ailing  persons.  The  kiss  on 
the  shoulder  is  a  sign  of  contrition  or  humility,  that  being  the  way 
the  peasants  used  to  kiss  their  masters.— Teanslator. 

367 


THE  WATCH 

a  bad  thing  to  get  a  little  sleep  now,"— and  fell 
silent. 

For  a  long  time  I  did  not  leave  our  room.  I  hid 
myself.  I  could  not  forget  what  my  father 
had  threatened  to  do  to  me.  But  my  apprehen- 
sions proved  vain.  He  came  across  me— and  did 
not  utter  a  word.  He  seemed  to  feel  ill  at  ease 
himself.  However,  night  soon  descended,  and  all 
quieted  down  in  the  house. 

XXIV 

On  the  following  morning  David  rose  as  though 
nothing  had  happened,  and  not  long  after,  on 
that  same  day,  two  important  events  occurred :  in 
the  morning  old  Latkin  died,  and  toward  evening 
uncle  Egor,  David's  father,  arrived  in  Ryazan. 
Without  having  sent  any  preliminary  letter,  with- 
out having  forewarned  any  one,  he  descended 
upon  us  like  snow  on  the  head.^  My  father  was 
extremely  disturbed  and  did  not  know  wherewith 
he  should  entertain,  where  he  should  seat  the  wel- 
come guest,  and  bustled  about  like  a  culprit ;  but 
my  uncle  did  not  appear  to  be  greatly  touched  by 
his  brother's  anxious  zeal;  he  kept  repeating, 
"  What 's  the  use  of  that?  "—and  "  I  do  not  want 
anything."  He  treated  my  aunt  with  even 
greater  coldness;  however,  she  did  not  like  him 
much,  anyway.    In  her  eyes  he  was  a  godless  man, 

1  Suddenly,  unexpectedly.— Translator. 

868 


THE  WATCH 

a  heretic,  a  Voltairian  ....  (he  actually  had 
learned  the  French  language  in  order  to  read 
Voltaire  in  the  original). 

I  found  uncle  Egor  such  as  David  had  de- 
scribed him  to  me.  He  was  a  big,  heavy,  ponder- 
ous man,  with  a  broad,  pock-marked  face,  dig- 
nified and  serious.  He  wore  constantly  a  hat  with 
a  plume,  lace  ruffles  and  frill,  and  a  short-coat  of 
tobacco-brown  hue,  with  a  steel  sword  on  his  hip. 
David  was  unspeakably  delighted  to  see  him— his 
face  even  grew  radiant  and  handsomer,  and  his 
eyes  became  quite  different— merry,  quick,  and 
brilliant;  but  he  strove  his  best  to  moderate  his 
joy  and  did  not  express  it  in  words:  he  was  afraid 
of  growing  faint-hearted. 

The  very  first  night  after  uncle  Egor's  arrival 
the  two — father  and  son — locked  themselves  up 
in  the  room  assigned  to  the  former  and  talked  to- 
gether for  a  long  time  in  an  undertone ;  on  the  fol- 
lowing morning  I  noticed  that  my  uncle  gazed  at 
his  son  in  a  peculiarly  affectionate  and  trustful 
manner:  he  seemed  greatly  pleased  with  him. 
David  took  him  to  the  requiem  service  ^  for  Lat- 
kin ;  I  also  went  thither :  my  father  did  not  hinder 
me,  but  remained  at  home  himself.  Raisa  sur- 
prised me  by  her  calmness;  she  had  grown  very 

1  Not  the  funeral,  or  even  a  requiem  liturgy,  but  a  service  composed 
of  wonderfully-beautiful  prayers  and  hymns.  Often  it  is  held  in  the 
house  of  the  deceased  twice  a  day  during  the  three  days  which  precede 
burial  (whixh  is  what  is  meant  here,  although  in  this  case  it  was  in 
church),  and  at  any  time  thereafter  when  the  friends  and  relatives 
request  it.— TaANSLAToa. 

369 


THE  WATCH 

pale  and  thin,  but  she  shed  no  tears,  and  spoke 
and  behaved  very  simply;  and  nevertheless, 
strange  to  say,  I  discerned  in  her  a  certain  maj- 
esty: the  unconscious  majesty  of  grief  vi^hich  for- 
gets itself.  Uncle  Egor  made  her  acquaintance 
then  and  there,  on  the  church  porch ;  afterward  it 
was  obvious  from  the  way  he  treated  her  that 
David  had  already  spoken  to  him  of  her.  He 
took  as  great  a  hking  to  her  as  his  son  had  done; 
I  could  read  that  in  David's  eyes  when  he  looked 
at  them.  I  remember  how  they  flashed  when 
his  father  said  in  his  presence,  in  speaking  of 
her:  "  She  's  a  clever  lass;  she  will  make  a  good 
housewife."  At  the  Latkins'  house  I  was  told 
that  the  old  man  had  expired  quietly,  like  a 
candle  which  is  burned  out,  and  until  he  lost  his 
powers  and  his  consciousness  he  kept  stroking 
his  daughter's  hair  and  repeating  something 
unintelligible  but  not  sorrowful,  and  smiling  all 
the  while. 

My  father  went  to  the  funeral,  to  the  church 
and  the  grave,  and  prayed  very  fervently;  even 
TrankvilHtatin  sang  in  the  choir.  At  the  grave 
Raisa  suddenly  burst  out  sobbing  and  fell  prone 
upon  the  earth ;  but  she  speedily  recovered  herself. 
Her  little  sister,  the  deaf-and-dumb  girl,  scruti- 
nised every  one  with  her  large,  bright,  and  some- 
what frightened  eyes;  from  time  to  time  she 
nestled  up  to  Raisa,  but  there  was  no  fright  per- 
ceptible in  her.   On  the  day  after  the  funeral,  uncle 

370 


THE  WATCH 

Egor,  who,  as  was  in  every  way  apparent,  had  not 
returned  from  Siberia  with  empty  hands  (he  had 
furnished  the  money  for  the  funeral,  and  had  lav- 
ishly rewarded  David's  rescuer) ,  but  who  had 
told  nothing  about  his  manner  of  life  there  and 
had  communicated  none  of  his  plans  for  the  fu- 
ture,— uncle  Egor  suddenly  announced  to  my 
father  that  he  did  not  intend  to  remain  in  Ryazan, 
but  was  going  to  Moscow  together  with  his  son. 
My  father,  for  the  sake  of  propriety,  expressed 
his  regret,  and  even  made  an  attempt — a  very  fee- 
ble one,  it  is  true— to  alter  my  uncle's  decision; 
but  in  the  depths  of  his  soul  he  was  greatly  de- 
lighted with  it,  I  am  sure. 

The  presence  of  a  brother  with  whom  he  had 
too  little  in  common,  who  did  not  even  deign 
to  reproach  him,  who  did  not  even  despise  him, 
but  simply  loathed  him,  oppressed  him  .... 
and  the  parting  with  David  did  not  constitute 
any  particular  grief  for  him.  This  separation 
annihilated  me,  of  course;  I  felt  completely  or- 
phaned at  first,  and  lost  all  hold  on  life  and  all 
desire  to  live. 

So  my  uncle  went  away,  taking  with  him  not 
only  David,  but,  to  the  great  amazement  and  even 
indignation  of  our  whole  street,  Raisa  and  her 
little  sister  also On  learning  of  this  per- 
formance of  his,  my  aunt  immediately  called  him 
a  Turk,  and  continued  to  call  him  so  to  the  end 
of  her  life. 

871 


THE  WATCH 

I  was  left  alone,  quite  alone.  .  .  .  But  it  does 
not  matter  about  me.  .  .  . 


XXV 

And  this  is  the  end  of  my  story  about  the  watch. 
What  else  can  I  tell  you?  Five  years  later,  David 
married  his  Black-lip,  and  in  1812,  with  the  rank 
of  ensign  in  the  artillery,  died  a  death  of  glory  on 
the  day  of  the  battle  at  Borodino,  while  defending 
the  Shevardin  redoubt. 

Many  things  have  happened  since  then,  and  I 
have  had  many  watches ;  I  have  even  attained  to 
the  magnificence  of  procuring  for  myself  a  genu- 
ine Breget  with  a  second-hand,  the  days  of  the 
month,  and  a  repeating  attachment.  .  .  .  But  in 
a  secret  drawer  of  my  writing-table  is  preserved 
an  old  silver  watch  with  a  rose  on  its  face;  I 
bought  it  of  a  Jew  pedlar,  being  struck  with  its 
resemblance  to  the  watch  which  had  once  been 
presented  to  me  by  my  godfather. — From  time 
to  time,  when  I  am  alone  and  am  not  expecting 
any  one,  I  take  it  out  of  its  box,  and  as  I  gaze  at 
it,  I  recall  the  days  of  my  youth  and  the  com- 
rade of  those  days,  which  have  vanished  beyond 
recall.  .  .  . 


372 


K-.nilTHERN  REGIONAL  UBRARYFA^^^^^^^^^^ 


JiA      000  338  367    6 


y 


